Dirty Little Secrets
by jane0904
Summary: Following on from LAST BITE, Rick comes up against the law, and Kate has to make an unlikely alliance to try and save his skin. Set end of 1st season, but just before final episode. Now complete, but there might be more. Let me know if you liked it!
1. Chapter 1

The speed the car was going, it was pretty much inevitable. Not even the sprinkling of summer rain on the road could slow it, and as it hit the verge it continued up the slight slope, its momentum hardly diminished. Then it was airborne, flying out into the night as if it was trying to reach up into the sky.

Gravity, though, had other ideas. Within touching distance of the lights of Manhattan, the vehicle carved an almost graceful parabola as it headed back towards earth, hitting the water with a mighty splash. For a few moments it seemed as if it would float, then the air inside evacuated in huge bubbles that broke the surface, pulling the car under. The engine died quickly, although the headlights continued to work for a while, flooding the water with a ghostly luminescence until they too succumbed.

Finally it was quiet and dark again, only the hum of the city beyond breaking the silence.

---

The car swerved around a stationery vehicle, then took advantage of the slight straight to gain speed. Another car started across the intersection, not having heard the siren, and Detective Kate Beckett had to slam her foot on the brake.

"Shit!"

Rick Castle, holding on for dear life in the passenger seat, mentally agreed, but didn't have the breath to say anything, his lungs having been forcibly emptied by the impact of his body on the seatbelt.

Kate leaned on the horn, and the other car backed up enough to allow her to go through.

"Hold on," she said, her foot pressing the accelerator to the floor.

Rick nodded as their car leaped forward in a squeal of tyres.

"There he is."

The white SUV was ahead, slowed as much by the traffic as they were.

She grabbed the radio mike. "He's on Crenshaw, heading north. If we can box him in at 34th ..."

"_On it, boss."_ This was Ryan.

"And if we can't?" Rick managed to gasp out.

"Then if he crosses the bridge life is going to get difficult."

"Get?" He grabbed for the dashboard as Kate swung the car to avoid a motorcyclist, feeling two of the wheels actually lose contact with the road for just a second. He had a mental picture of the car flipping, going over and over, their bodies inside like in a tumble dryer, all twisted and broken ... then it settled back and his heart began to beat again.

The SUV was closer, but maybe not close enough. Then, even at this distance, they heard tyres complain as the brake lights came on, and the white vehicle started to slide, trying to gain enough traction to get around the truck that was double-parked, instead slamming into it, side to side.

Kate stamped on their own brakes, controlling, out of the car almost before it came to a stop, her gun in her hand. Rick followed, slower, hanging back even though she hadn't taken the time to tell him to stay.

"Freeze!" she yelled, her weapon trained on the driver, who attempted to open the door to run. She kicked it closed again on his hand, and he yelled. "Just give me an excuse ..." she added.

The man whimpered, cradling the affected limb, even as Rick smiled widely. She was incredible. No wonder she was the perfect inspiration for Nikki Heat.

---

"Wow." Rick couldn't get over the adrenalin rush. He was sitting at the desk next to Kate's as she wrote up her report, a cup of espresso untouched in front of him. "That was ... wow." He grinned happily.

Kate, her concentration on the computer screen, noticed a spelling error in her typing and backed up the cursor. "Yes," she agreed absently.

He watched her, the way her brow furrowed as she considered the right words to make the report accurate. "How do you describe that?" he asked.

"What?"

"The chase. How do you describe that in your report?"

She half-turned to look at him, his hair still slightly out of place, his blue shirt, open maybe a button or two lower than it should be, complimenting his eyes perfectly. She sighed. "Just that there was a high speed chase, with no involvement with bystanders or other vehicles until at the end, and we caught him."

"That's it? That whole ... rollercoaster ride in a few words?"

"That's it." She tapped the screen. "This isn't a novel, Castle."

"It would take me four, maybe five pages. More, if I could get away with it."

"Well, real life isn't like one of your books."

"Sometimes it is." He was referring to the reason he was shadowing Kate in the first place, the murders that had been based on settings in his stories.

She resisted the temptation to stick her tongue out at him, and instead went back to her report. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" she asked, wondering if she could use the word 'squealed' in relation to coming to a halt, and decided against it. "Some red carpet or other you should be wandering down?"

Rick glanced at his watch. "Not really. I've got an appointment in a couple of hours, but I can hang around until then."

"Lucky me." Her tone was so dry everyone in the room suddenly had the urge for a drink.

He didn't mind. For the past few weeks he'd felt they'd been coming to an understanding. Even the arrival of Will Sorenson hadn't put that much of a crimp in their relationship, and Rick was getting closer to the inevitable. Oh, not sleeping with her. At least, not yet. That was something for the future, if they ever got that far. She was much more likely to shoot him if he even suggested it – hell, thinking it was probably dangerous – but right now he was content to be her friend. He half-smiled.

"What are you smirking about?"

"Smirk?" He looked affronted. "I don't smirk."

"Yes you do."

"Well, maybe I was," he conceded. "I was just thinking about us."

"Us?"

"How we work together. Catch the bad guys. Get them locked away."

"Takes one to know one," she muttered. "And there is no 'us'."

"Oh, I don't know. We're probably famous in some circles. Like Mulder and Scully. Bonnie and Clyde."

She half-turned, leaning her elbow on the back of the chair. "The first are fictional, the second were crooks."

"Tracy and Hepburn."

"Actors, Castle. Actors. I doubt very much they ever went out solving crimes."

"Maybe they did. In their spare time." His eyes glazed a moment. "Famous thespians who take murder off the streets and put it back where it belongs, in the theatre."

Kate glanced at Ryan, who was grinning, and she rolled her eyes. "Your next plot?"

"Well, maybe I'll keep it for a while. Let it ferment."

"Good idea. Maybe your head will explode." She turned back to her screen, typing more rapidly in an effort to ignore him.

Rick looked over at Ryan. "She loves me really."

"If you say so, buddy."

It was another fifteen minutes before Kate was satisfied with her report, sending it to print and standing up to try and get the kinks out of her back. She stretched, moving her shoulders around while using her hips in counterpoint, and he just couldn't help himself.

"What are you doing?" Ryan asked, watching Rick fiddling with something.

"Shh!" Rick urged, turning away from the view and holding out his cellphone so the detective could see.

"She is so going to kill you," Ryan said, grinning nevertheless.

"Am I?" Kate was suddenly at Rick's elbow. "What about this time?"

Rick slid the phone closed. "Nothing. At least, nothing more than usual."

She held out her hand. "Show me."

"No."

"Castle ..." She flicked her fingers in the universal sign for _give it to me or you won't be walking straight for three weeks_.

With Ryan grinning even wider, if that was possible, Rick reluctantly handed his phone over.

She slid it open, stared at the screen. Her thumb passed across it, changing the picture, although the expression on her face didn't. Eventually she handed it back. "Delete them," she ordered.

"They're just pictures, Kate," Rick said.

"Of me. Without my permission. That's a gross invasion of my privacy, at the least. Delete them."

"They're research," he went on, trying to persuade her and knowing he was going to fail. "For Nikki Heat. So I can see how she would –"

"I don't care. Get rid of them. Now." She stood in front of him, her hands on her hips, and glared at him.

"Fine, fine," Rick said, using the touch screen to send the photos he'd taken of Kate to the great recycle bin in the sky. "There." He held up the phone, which now clearly said 'No pictures saved'. "Happy?"

"Happy would be having you off my back and out of my life." She span on her heel and went back to her desk, dropping into the seat.

"You don't mean that."

"Try me." She started flicking through her printed report.

Rick had to hide the ... yes, the smirk. It was a good job he'd already set his phone up to automatically send any photos he took to his email account. Otherwise where would a man be? Besides, he knew his muse didn't really want him out of her life. They worked too well together for that.

The phone in his hand rang, and he almost dropped it in surprise. Checking the caller ID he slid it open, holding it to his ear and saying, "Yes, mother?"

"Richard?"

He smiled. "Who else would it be? And who else answers by saying 'yes, mother'?"

She wasn't in the mood for chit-chat. "Have you seen the Herald?"

"You mean the magazine?"

"Of course. Don't be obtuse, darling, it doesn't suit you."

"I wasn't being obtuse. I've had ... an interesting day, that's all, and I'm still a bit buzzed. And no, I haven't seen it. Why would I? It's not exactly my thing."

The Herald, or to give it its full title, **_The Herald of Truth _**(bold and italics included), was a fortnightly publication only recently on the market, bridging the gap between the more upmarket, serious tomes and the so-called true life 'celebrity' rags. Plying pretty much the same areas as the latter, it used longer words in an effort to be taken seriously, and despite dire misgivings on the part of the literary world, it had become wildly popular in the few months of its somewhat seedy life.

Martha sighed heavily. "Then you'd better pick one up on your way home."

"Why?"

"You'll see. And if you don't get going you'll be late." She hung up.

Rick stared at his cell. "That was odd."

"Your mother?" Kate asked.

"No, I didn't mean that. She's odd all the time. I mean –"

"Hey, Rick," Esposito said, walking into the squad room. "You seen this?" He was holding up a magazine.

"The Herald?"

"Mmn." The detective nodded, then grinned, staring at the page in front of him. "You're going to like it. Well, maybe not you," he corrected. "But we will."

Rick got to his feet so he could look over the other man's shoulder. "Ah."

Kate, her curiosity aroused despite herself, stood up. "What?"

Rick took the magazine and laid it on the desk. "That."

She couldn't help it. Laughter rolled out of her perfect lips. "Oh, dear ..."

"It's not funny!" he insisted.

"Yes it is."

The headline was **RICHARD CASTLE – JUST A NICE GUY?** across a double page spread where one side was taken up by a publicity photo of the man in question. Not one of his better ones, either, he considered.

"Hey, is that the Herald?" Ryan asked, coming into the room, a negative tox screen report in his hand.

"It is," Esposito confirmed.

"What does it say about him?" The young man crossed to stand behind them, craning his neck to see past. "It's the talk of the locker room."

"Not a lot," his friend and colleague said with a disgusted sigh. He read aloud. "_'Coming in our next edition ... Honor McAllister's exposé on the private life of world-renowned author and man about town, Richard Castle.'_" He looked up at Rick. "Are you world-renowned?"

Rick shrugged. "I'm very big in Europe."

"That's what they all say," Ryan commented, making it a double entrendre without even trying.

"They love Derrick Storm in the Far East, too, you know."

"Lucky you."

"And why is it always 'man about town'?" Esposito wanted to know. "We're all men, we live in this town. It's a stupid phrase."

"I couldn't agree more," Rick said.

Kate ignored them and picked the magazine up, continuing where Esposito had left off. "_'With an in-depth interview, she asks whether this handsome, charming man is simply a person with a fertile imagination, or if some of the more perverted aspects of the Storm novels are taken from his own, real, not so squeaky clean life.'_" She shook her head. "I didn't know you'd been interviewed."

"Not by Honor McAllister, I haven't." Rick plucked the magazine from her hands. "Is this libellous?"

"Not really. At least, not so far." She looked into his face, her own smug. "It might be worth seeing if you can get a look at the article before it's published, though. Get your lawyer to go over it. But good luck getting it stopped."

Rick sighed. "I know."

"I like the way it suggests you're depraved without actually coming right out with it, though," Kate said, trying unsuccessfully to hide her own smirk. It was so rare that she had the upper hand in their relationship, and she was going to enjoy every second. "Subtle."

"As it happens, this is old news," Rick said, dropping the magazine back down on the desk. "She spoke to my agent some time back trying to dig something up on me." He flicked his fingers either side of his face. "Some kind of deep, dark, scary secret." He shook his head. "I thought they'd given up on the idea, to be honest."

"Did he give any away?" Esposito asked. "Any of your deep, dark, scary secrets?"

"Please don't encourage him," Kate implored, but the men ignored her.

"Nope," Rick said proudly. "There aren't any. My life is as transparent as an open book."

Kate stared at him. "Don't be naive," she said. "Everybody's got secrets."

"Not me," he insisted. "Open book. Want to thumb through my pages?"

She picked up the magazine and hit him with it.

---

All across the city temperature gauges were going up. The forecasters were predicting a mini heatwave over the next few days, recommending that anyone with health problems should stay indoors, keep the air-conditioning on, and drink plenty of fluids.

The water in the East River hadn't warmed up any, though. It was going to take a long time for even a degree's difference, but that didn't stop the small army of crustaceans and other bottom dwellers from making their way inside the car, getting in through the submerged vents and through the chassis, feasting on the soft tissue of the body they'd found within.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm going to my room." Alexis almost ran up the stairs, away from her father and grandmother.

"Honey?" Rick called after her, but she didn't answer. Her door slamming seemed very final.

"Honestly, Richard," Martha said, shaking her head as she dropped her purse onto the sofa. "Did you have to?"

"Have to what?" He knew he was in trouble when she used his full name, which seemed to be quite a lot of the time.

"Don't look so innocent. I used to change your diapers, remember?"

"Gladly, no." He glared at her. "And I don't see Alexis complaining about your stories."

"I didn't embarrass her."

"No? What about the one with Charlton Heston and the jug of Margaritas?"

She patted his arm as she headed for the kitchen area. "Darling, nobody there was old enough to know who Charlton Heston was, let alone cared. And I was but a babe in arms myself."

"That's even more disturbing."

Martha leaned in the refrigerator door. "Hmmn. Feeling peckish."

"You just had a four course dinner."

"Three."

"I was counting the martinis."

"I wasn't." She smiled at him around the side. "Besides, I needed them, since Alexis wasn't talking to you at all." She sighed. "Although you're right. I won't keep this girlish figure if I keep snacking." She closed it up and walked past him, patting him on the stomach. "You might want to think about losing a pound or two, yourself. There's definitely some softness there."

"There is not!" He was most indignant.

"Richard, I'm not complaining. But your love handles are getting a little hefty." She smiled sweetly at him and walked up the stairs. "And Kate will never sleep with you if you get all bloated. Not that Maggie will mind. She seems to like you just the way you are." She shook her head before she disappeared. "But then, she always was an odd girl."

For once he was speechless, then had to grin. She did it deliberately, he knew. It wasn't that she resented living with him and Alexis, but sometimes he understood that it irked her. Yet another failed marriage, this time with the ex-husband running off with the marital money ... it was lucky she had someplace to go, and she loved being with Alexis. It just gave her far too much opportunity to think up witty remarks. And party. He still remembered prying lime segments from the wall.

Opening up the fridge himself, he stared inside, letting the cold air wash over him. It was certainly warming up. The weatherman on the morning news had said it was likely to reach the eighties by the weekend, and humid too. Something to do with a front coming up from Florida. Or something. He hadn't really been listening, having been more concerned with getting Gina off the phone by promising to check the galley proofs as soon as he could, but they seemed to know what they were talking about. Probably best to turn up the air conditioning, just a little.

He reached for the can of squirty cream, his late night snack of choice, then glanced down at his belly. He wasn't getting fat. Nowhere near it. But maybe a couple of days on the Stairmaster wouldn't go amiss.

Turning off the lights and heading for his own bed, he paused outside his daughter's bedroom. "Sweetheart?" he called softly.

"What?" Her voice sounded muffled.

"I just wanted to ... apologise."

The door opened, and she stood there, looking at him, ready for bed in her yellow pyjamas, hairbrush in her hand. "Why, Dad?"

"For doing what I did at the career event."

"No, I mean why did you do it in the first place?" She crossed her arms, her foot tapping, looking unnervingly like her mother, Meredith.

Rick decided not to mention that. "I just ... it seemed like fun."

"Dad, I have to go to school there."

"I know. And I won't do it again." He tipped his head sideways. "We okay now?"

"It wasn't funny. Miss Hubbard didn't know where to look."

For a moment he wracked his brain, then remembered she was the new Vice-Principal. All masculine hair cut and rimless glasses that she kept looking over to talk to people. He idly wondered why she hadn't bought herself bifocals in the first place. "I forgot where I was. And, before you say it, I know it wasn't the first time."

"That doesn't make it right."

"I know. And I _am_ sorry."

Her arms relaxed. "Okay. Apology accepted."

He reached in and pulled her close, hugging her tightly. "Sorry, princess."

"Okay." She snuggled into his embrace for a moment, then stepped back. "I have school tomorrow. And damage control."

"If you like I'll write you a note. Suitably grovelling and confessing my sins. You can get someone to read it out over the tannoy."

"No. But thanks."

He glanced down at the hairbrush. "Can I ..." He picked up a strand of her red tresses. He'd always loved brushing her hair, ever since she was a baby, the soothing action making him feel that much closer to his little girl.

"No, Dad. I think you've lost hairbrushing privileges for today." Her lips curved, just a little. "'Night."

He heaved a melodramatic sigh. "Goodnight."

Her mouth twitched. "Go to bed."

"I'm going, I'm going. I'm planning on Twittering under the blankets."

This time Alexis laughed. "You'll be arrested."

"My house. If I want to Twitter naked, I will."

"Too much information." She reached up and placed a kiss on his cheek. "See you in the morning."

He smiled. "You too, pumpkin." He let her step back and closed the door.

At least they weren't going to bed mad. Since working with Kate on these murder cases, he'd made it a point of never sleeping on anger, not if he could help it. It was too easy to wake up dead in this town.

Going into his own room, he kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the bed. Still too wired to sleep, especially considering the time, he grabbed the phone, dialling from memory.

It was only a few moments before the other end was picked up, and a voice said, "If you're not someone very wealthy and incredibly handsome, I'm hanging up."

"You're in luck, then."

"Rick!" Maggie Maguire sounded pleased to hear from him.

"And what are you doing home? Shouldn't you be out giving those studio executives hell?"

"I told you. I've got lawyers to deal with all that. Besides, if you think I should be somewhere else, why are you ringing me at home, then?" Maggie countered.

"Because I know you." He could see her in his mind's eye, in the huge tatty t-shirt she'd bought somewhere with a picture of tourist palm trees on it that had faded into washed-out art, a pair of loose grey jogging pants that were sagging in the seat, and bare feet tucked up under her.

Maggie had always gone for comfort over style when it came to relaxing. Another reason they'd always got on – more than once they'd spent an entire weekend in each other's company, her in one of her comfortable outfits, him in nothing more than boxers and a robe. Ah, happy days.

"Really."

"And if you're there, I bet I know what you're doing."

"You'd lose. I'm writing."

"No, you're not. My finely tuned senses are telling me you're playing spider solitaire instead."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"You want me to fly to LA and prove it?"

There was a pause, then a throaty laugh. "Rick, you really _do _know me too well."

"Intimately." He grinned, even though she couldn't see. "I play the ponies at Belmont, you play a crappy virtual card game on your laptop."

"It's not crappy. Sometimes it can be pretty difficult."

He laughed. "Right."

"It can!" she protested.

"Writer's block?"

This time she sighed, the frustration coming down the phone line. "Big time."

"Tell your Uncle Rick all about it. Maybe he can help."

"Maybe later. Let me have another couple of hours crack at it." There was a sound like she was drinking from a glass. "What time is it there?"

He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. "A little after nine."

"Then why are _you_ at home? Shouldn't you be out with one of your many, many girlfriends? It's not exactly a school night for you, is it?"

"Well, actually ..." He swiftly went over the sordid details of the career event at Alexis' school.

"You didn't, Rick. Please tell me you didn't."

"It was just a few stories. Nothing ... illegal."

"And you embarrassed the hell out of Alexis."

"It's what I'm here for."

"One day she's going to do it to you. And you're going to be mortified."

"I already apologised to her."

"Did you mean it?"

"Of course I meant it!"

"All right, all right. Don't jump down my throat."

He relaxed back onto the pillow. "Sorry. And I meant that too."

"No problem."

"And Alexis won't embarrass her poor old dad. No matter how often I beg her to."

"Must be something to do with the fact that she loves you."

"Must be. Anyway, it wasn't even that bad. Just a few stories. And I did resist the request to sign the English teacher's breasts."

"Rick, I'm proud of you."

They laughed together, just two friends chatting over a long-distance call.

---

Kate stepped out of the shower and looked at herself in the mirror. Lately she'd been wearing a little more make-up – even the lipstick Lanie had suggested a while back – but with her hair slicked off her face, and freshly scrubbed, she looked young. Tired, but young.

Sometimes she wondered what she needed to do to look more professional. Not that she needed it to do her job. After all, they'd managed to get another murderer off the streets. And Kyle Palmer was a scumbag of the first order, and children were sleeping a hell of a lot safer in their beds because she'd done her job. No matter how she looked. She should be pleased. And in a way she was, but there was something itching at the back of her neck.

Rubbing at the offending area, she grimaced into the mirror. Maybe _too_ tired.

A rivulet of sweat ran down her cheek, and she wiped it away with a towel. It was instantly replaced. Wiping it again, she watched as another droplet made its way down her skin. Come to think of it, the temperature seemed a lot higher than it should be.

Padding naked into the living room, she glanced at the TV, unwatched but still playing quietly to itself in the corner. It was something she did on occasion, left it on, just so that the place wasn't entirely silent.

It appeared to be a rerun of some murder mystery. An older woman was bleating on about how the killer had made one basic error. Kate smiled. If only it were that easy. As a cop she knew that a lot of intentional deaths went unsolved because the perp _didn't_ make that one stupid mistake. Otherwise they wouldn't have those boxes of cold cases in the basement. Including her mother's.

Kate shook her head, crossing barefoot to the air-conditioning unit and turning the knob. Placing one hand on top, she waited for the cool air to increase.

---

Next morning Rick bounced into the squad room, a swing in his step, and a huge grin on his face. He slapped the box of Danishes down on the desk, rubbed his hands together and said, loudly, "So, what's cooking?"

Esposito held up a file. "Paperwork," he said succinctly.

"What?"

Ryan passed him, opening the box and snagging one of the jam doughnuts. He took a large bite and spoke through the mouthful. "Like he said. Paperwork." He rubbed at a fleck of jelly on his chin with the back of his hand. "You know, I could get used to this," he added, heading back to his chair.

"Is that it?" Rick looked at the pair of them. "No unexplained deaths? No bodies turned up in unexpected places? Bits and pieces that make up more than the sum?" He paused. "Must remember that one." Then he shook his head. "There must be something." Perching on the edge of Kate's desk, currently unoccupied, he went on, "People die every day in this city. At least one of them must be a homicide."

"A lot more than one," Esposito agreed. "Just not a case for us at the moment."

"So every potential murderer has decided to take a vacation?"

"They probably heard you were on the prowl."

"Ha ha." Rick made a face.

Ryan laughed and licked his fingers clean of the sugar. "Anyway, shouldn't you be home? Finishing your latest?"

Esposito sat forwards, grinning. "Yeah. Nikki Heat. And I have to say I love that name. Very … appropriate."

"Thanks. And I'm on the final chapter. Just the denouement to be hashed out," Rick admitted.

"So when are you going to let us in on the plot?" Ryan wanted to know.

The famous, ruggedly handsome author – even if he had to say so himself – shook his head. "I don't. I never tell anyone until it's finished. Well, not many, anyway."

"Are we in it?"

"Maybe."

The two detectives exchanged a glance, then Ryan asked, "We don't get killed in the first chapter, do we?"

"Don't encourage him," Kate said, walking into the squad room. She glared at Rick. "Excuse me?"

"Why, what have you done?"

"Get off." She slapped him with the file until he stood up from the corner of her desk.

"Who got out of the wrong side of bed this morning?" he asked, leaning on it instead with his hands. "And was it anyone's I know?"

She glared at him. "If you don't leave me alone, only your proctologist will be able to remove this." She held up her pen.

"Ouch." He took a huge step backwards. "Better?"

"Ask me from Queens and I might agree."

Rick looked over at Esposito, a question on his face.

"The air-conditioning in her apartment broke yesterday evening," the detective responded, ignoring the glare she was throwing him. "She couldn't sleep."

"No wonder she's in a mood." Rick turned back to her. "You want me to call a man I know? He's very good. I can have him over in –"

"No!" With an effort she unclenched her teeth. "No. Thank you. The supervisor's getting someone in. And it's not just me. Half the apartments have gone out."

"Then we'll go pick up some of your stuff and you can stay at my place."

She stared at him, all cool and sexy … No, wait. Where had that come from? Just because she was feeling like something he'd walked in off the street on his shoe … For a moment she closed her eyes to centre herself, then Kate Beckett, Detective, looked back at him. "That won't be necessary. It'll only be a few hours. Probably fixed by the time I get home anyway."

"If you're sure. I mean, my guest room's always open." He smiled, the nice guy she knew to be there peeking out.

"Honestly." Kate allowed her lips to twitch slightly. "I'll be fine."

"So's my room, for that matter."

Her gaze froze. "I said no."

"Okay. Your loss." He headed for the break room, and the espresso machine. "Offer's still on the table. Or the bed."

Kate glanced at her two colleagues, who suddenly found themselves engrossed in their work.

---

"You're kidding." Stacey Decker stared at her boyfriend as he began to strip.

Mike Hayes grinned up at her from lower down the bank, tossing his jeans onto one of the rocks. "It'll be fun."

"Fun?" Stacey glanced around. "Mike, it's the East River. One mouthful and we'll be catching something terrible and die."

"Then don't drink it." He shimmied out of his underwear. "And if we do catch something, we're in the right place." He nodded towards the Goldwater Memorial Hospital, just visible through the trees.

Stacey looked him up and down, defiant in his nakedness. "Just 'cause you're a nurse here doesn't mean we can do this. Someone might be watching."

"Come on. It's gone three. Everyone's taking a nap. No-one can see." He stepped into the water, and gasped. "Aagh! It's cold."

"And you expect me to come in after you?" She wrapped her arms around herself, despite the heat.

"It'll be fine once you're in." Climbing carefully over the slippery rocks, he was soon waist deep, making a lot of funny faces as the water reached parts he hadn't imagined. "What, you afraid?"

"Yes."

He grinned. "Stace, come on." He changed his tack. "I came with you when you wanted to make love on top of the rollercoaster. It cost me a hundred bucks, too, to get the guy to stop it up there."

"That was a dare."

"So's this." He splashed his arms. "Want me to tell everyone you were too scared?"

She glared at him. "Don't you even think about it."

"Then come on," he urged.

For a moment he was unsure whether she was going to follow him or brain him. Then she suddenly pulled off her top, her small, unfettered breasts already sheened in a light coating of sweat. Her skirt followed, her panties finally tossed onto the pile of clothing. Summoning up every single ounce of her courage, she ran to the edge, pausing only briefly before diving in.

She surfaced ten yards away, spluttering. "Shit!" she finally managed to gasp out.

He swam towards her. "Great, isn't it?"

"No, it's not." She started to tread water. "It's fu … freezing!"

"It gets better."

"When?"

He moved closer, smiling at her. "I can think of a few ways to warm up."

The anger in her eyes seemed to fade, changing to something else. "Mike, I doubt if you've got the equipment right now to promise anything."

"No?"

"No." She reached below the surface and ran her hand down his belly. He shuddered. "See?"

"Two can play at that game." He cupped her breast, his legs flicking faster to stay afloat. Pressing a thumb over her nipple, which puckered instantly, he breathed, "Just give me a little time."

Stacey grinned, her tongue running over her lips. "Not too long, I hope."

"Oh, definitely not that." He managed to paddle close enough so he could kiss her, and they sank down, the water closing over their heads, holding their breath as they wrapped around each other.

She jerked away, kicking back to the surface. "What was that?" she gasped, spluttering slightly.

He appeared next to her. "Stace?"

"What was that?" she repeated, moving away from him slightly.

He was apologetic. "Sorry, I thought you'd –"

"No, not you. I touched something. Under the water."

"What? Where?"

She pointed beneath her. "Down there."

Mike tried to see through the murk, but … wait, was that something? A shadow? "Stay here."

Swallowing hard, she said, "I'm not going anywhere."

"That's my girl." He took a deep breath, diving down into the gloom.

Stacey bit her lip, waiting, waiting – or so it seemed – for a long time.

Then … "Hey, there _is_ something down here," Mike said as he broke the surface, flicking his hair out of his face.

Stacey immediately glanced back towards the bank. "What?" she asked, wondering how many seconds it would take her to swim back.

"Looks like a car."

"A car?" Something cold ran down her spine, and it wasn't the water running off her hair. "Mike, leave it."

"Why? Could be something worth reclaiming in there."

"Or something a lot worse."

"I think it's a Merc. From what I could see, it's brand new." Mike loved cars, had planned to be a mechanic when he left school before he decided to take a crack at nursing. In fact, he'd spent most weekends working at his uncle's garage, learning the trade from the ground up, so to see such a beautiful vehicle drowned like this was a tragedy as far as he was concerned.

"Mike, I'm scared. If you want to, we'll call the police from the hospital. But I want to get out now. Please?"

"You go if you want. I'm going to see if I can get inside." He grinned, filling his lungs with a life's supply of oxygen before dropping down again.

The water was almost grey in colour, but there was enough sunlight filtering down for him to pick out the general shape, and he realised he was on the left hand side, by the driver's door. The window was up, and he couldn't see through it. Grabbing hold of the handle, Mike tugged, feeling a small amount of suction give as he managed to break the seal, a bubble of air escaping and fracturing as it rolled towards the sky.

He was young, in shape, but even he couldn't stop recoiling back in horror, taking in half a lungful of water as the hand drifted towards him, nails green in the low light, the shifting sunlight glittering on the gold watch on the dead wrist.


	3. Chapter 3

The fire department had set up lights along the bank, and as the sun set these brought the scene into sharp-edged relief. Emergency rescue divers were still down, checking the padded restraints were in place before they attempted to bring the car out of the East River.

Ryan and Esposito showed their badges and pushed through the cordon, holding back only a double handful of gawkers, mostly from the hospital and the new condos.

"Boss?" Ryan stared at the woman standing on top of the low verge, her hands on her hips, then glanced at his partner, his face asking a question.

Esposito shrugged.

"Took you long enough," Kate said, her eyes on the lights under the water.

"We were on our way home," Esposito explained. "And traffic's heavy."

"It's New York. When isn't it?"

The two men joined her at the top of the slight bank, wincing slightly as the winch squealed, beginning to drag the car slowly from the murky waters.

"How come you're here before us anyway?" Ryan asked, peering down. "You left first."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "As it happens, Dr Parish is putting me up for a couple of days. I came with her when she got the call."

Esposito grinned. "Your AC still not fixed?"

"No." A look of irritation crossed her face. "Apparently the unseasonable hot weather has caused a lot of them to go down, and all the repairmen are busy." She sounded like she was quoting someone else.

"You could always take Castle up on his offer," Ryan said.

"Wash your brain out."

He swallowed a smile. "I meant getting someone round to fix it. He did say he knew someone."

"Ah. Right." She deliberately didn't look at him. "Maybe," she conceded. "But if this is what I think it is, I won't be home that much to worry."

"A body, huh?"

"According to the divers. And that pair." She nodded towards two young people sitting in the back of the ambulance, wrapped in blankets, despite the warmth and rising humidity. "Couple of kids skinny-dipping found a submerged car."

"Looks like maybe the driver lost control," Esposito said. He glanced back, pointing into the deepening gloom. "Coming along the road, took the left okay but lost it trying for the hard right."

"Here?" She looked around, seeing the shapes of trees and scrubby bushes, with only pinpricks of light coming from the buildings some distance away. "How many people come to Roosevelt Island for fun?"

Ryan shrugged. "I've heard of a few." He jerked his head towards the ambulance. "That pair, for a start."

"He works at the hospital, and thought this would make for an enjoyable afternoon. Apparently she told him not to investigate the car, that there might be something nasty inside." Kate couldn't quite stop the smile.

Ryan glanced over, and saw the look on the girl's face. "I'm guessing she's saying _I told you so_."

"Oh, yes. Often. And with very inventive language, too."

There was movement at the cordon. "Hey, let me through. I'm with them." The voice carried over the sound of the winch cable still reeling in. "Katie?"

Kate closed her eyes for a moment, idly wondering if she could shoot the man in front of witnesses and claim it was justifiable homicide. Or just that time of the month.

"I didn't call," Ryan said quickly.

"Me neither." Esposito had his hands up in an expression of surrender.

"No. I did," Kate admitted, sighing. "It was better than having the Mayor do it." She turned towards the officers holding back the small crowd. "It's okay," she called. "Let him through."

"We have a body?" Rick asked as he ducked under the tape and climbed the bank.

"It's what we do. And call me Katie once more and you'll be the second." She poked him in the chest.

His lips twitched, but he bit back on any comments, instead just asking, "Murder?"

"Not up to me." Kate turned away from him, back to the river where they could just make out the dull shine of a bumper under the water.

"That's my job," Lanie put in from closer to the edge. "Hey."

Rick smiled and waved. "Hi." He looked at Kate. "Do we know who it is yet?"

"Not yet." Kate shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek. "But something tells me this one might be interesting."

"Your spidey-senses acting up?"

"Something like that. Although I've always seen myself more as Wonder Woman."

"Well, the truth lasso might come in handy when interviewing suspects," Rick conceded, making a mental note of that for Nikki Heat. "And I can just imagine you in those shorts." He glanced around, adding quickly before she could retaliate, "Nice spot."

"At least there's a breeze."

"Yeah, it's getting sticky." He smiled widely at her. "Which reminds me. The air conditioning at your apartment sorted out?"

"It's fine." She glared briefly at her two colleagues, who suddenly took an interest in other things.

"I'll go get a statement from the kids," Ryan said, tugging a notebook from his pocket.

"And I'll talk to the onlookers, see if they heard a vehicle racing around any time." Esposito hurried away with his partner.

The car had broken surface, water streaming off every surface and out of the open door, but Rick ignored it. "Is there something I don't know about?" he asked.

"No," Kate said shortly. In an effort to change the subject, she added, "You didn't have to come."

"Oh, yes I did. Besides, I was losing."

"Losing?"

"Poker. My mind wasn't on the game." He smiled. "Besides, _you_ called _me._"

"Okay, hold it there," the rescue team chief called. The sound of the winch stopped, and they could hear the low hum of traffic coming from Manhattan. Making sure the car was safe, and not likely to slip back, he nodded to Lanie. "Ma'am."

She grinned. "I love that. Being called _ma'am_." Stepping carefully through the water that was now trickling rather than gushing, she went down onto her heels next to the open driver's door.

Ryan sidled back.

"Anything new?" Kate asked.

He shook his head. "Like you said. I think that's one relationship that isn't going to get stronger through adversity."

She had to smile. "Pity."

They watched the ME doing what she did best for a moment.

"You know, it's not that long ago cars weren't allowed onto the island," Ryan mused, ever the fount of useless information.

"An example of early urban planning," Rick agreed. "It might have been better if they hadn't changed their mind. Maybe the driver wouldn't have taken that last long leap into the sweet by and by."

"You're thinking suicide?" Ryan looked surprised.

"I always think of murder. But this time … it's possible."

"No, it's not," Lanie called. "Come on down."

The detectives half climbed, half slid to join her, Rick at their heels.

"What do you have?" Kate asked, ignoring the earth being churned up to mud and sticking to her boots. She pulled on a pair of latex gloves, the snapping sound seeming very loud.

Rick scooted around her side so he could see into the car. "Whoa!" He tried hard not to recoil, but it was difficult. "That's …"

"I wouldn't have thought you had a queasy stomach," Lanie commented, moving the soaking blonde hair away from the remains of the face.

"I …" He wiped his mouth. "It's just … gooier than I've seen."

"Not even from your research?"

"That's why they call it fiction."

Lanie smiled. "Dead bodies make a good meal for the creepy crawlies that live in the river. And it looks like they enjoyed having dinner on her."

The corner of Kate's mouth lifted.

"Good one," Rick said, even though he still hung back a little. "But … her? How can you tell?"

"There's enough soft tissue still exposed to take an educated guess." She lifted one of the hands. "Besides, her manicure and dress are something of a giveaway."

Rick swallowed quickly, hoping he wasn't going to lose his lunch. "Believe me, in this town that's no guarantee of gender."

"You said it wasn't suicide," Kate reminded Lanie. "An accident?"

"I don't think so."

Kate's eyes narrowed as she saw the look on her friend's face. She and Lanie went back a long way, to when she was first made detective, and she knew that expression. "She was dead before she went into the water," she surmised quickly.

"Got it in one," the ME said. "No sign of drowning, no frothing at the lips – what's left of them. And it looks to me like there could be a stab wound at the base of the neck." She made a note on her pad. "If that's the case then it probably severed the spinal cord. Death would have been pretty much instantaneous, so I doubt she was doing any driving. But I'll confirm that, one way or the other, in the autopsy." She reached down into the foot well. "Purse," she added, passing it to Kate.

Like everything else it was waterlogged, but at least it was intact. Ignoring the little voice at the back of her mind saying that the slimy feel of the outside was probably due to bodily decomp, she opened it up. Inside there were the usual appurtenances of female living … lipstick, powder compact, a handful of what probably used to be paper tissues … and a wallet, which she withdrew carefully. The purse she slipped into the evidence bag that Ryan was holding open.

Easing the wallet apart, she quickly checked the pockets. "Cash, although it's pretty soggy. Credit cards, so no theft. Ah." She held up the leather to try and get the light in the right place.

"Driving licence?" Ryan asked.

"Yes."

"So?" Rick moved forward, overcoming his slight nausea. "Who is she?"

"An old friend of yours."

"Mine?" He hoped his voice hadn't squeaked, and coughed as if to clear a frog in his throat. He tried again. "Mine?"

She held it so he could see the photo on the card, a woman with blonde hair pushed away from her face to fall down her back. He couldn't make out the colour of her eyes, but the name was clear enough.

"Shit," he breathed.

Kate wasn't smiling. "Exactly. I told you I had the feeling this was going to interesting."

"You can say that again," Rick murmured as he watched Kate slip Honor McAllister's proof of life – or death – into the evidence bag.

---

"Honor McAllister?" Maggie, on the other end of the line, sounded the way she probably looked, her eyebrows raised into her spiky black hair, green eyes wide. "Are you sure it's her?"

Rick sat down on the bed and lifted his legs up, glancing idly at his naked feet and stretching his toes. "Driving licence, general build, hair colour … Lanie's doing the PM in the morning, but I guess I think it's pretty much a foregone conclusion."

"And Kate hasn't arrested you already?"

He paused as he went to lie down. "What? Why?"

"You're the perfect suspect." She laughed, quite clearly more than amused by the idea. "You're her next victim, Rick. You probably killed her because of all the secrets she's found out about you."

"I don't have any."

"Everyone has secrets."

"Not me. As I told Kate, my life is an open, if well-thumbed book."

"Then I have just one question for you. What don't I know about you, and how come I don't already know it?"

"That's two."

"Just answer before I find you in contempt."

"Ooh, Mags. Contempt? You?"

"You're only being like this because I can't hit you."

Rick gazed at the ceiling, running his free hand through his hair. "What is it about the women in my life? They all like beating me up."

"Ever thought it might be you?"

"Never."

They laughed together, then Maggie got back to the matter in hand. "So, come on. Give."

"What, my secrets?"

"Yes. 'Fess up."

"Well …" He pondered for a moment. "I did use to be a woman."

He heard her chuckle. "That's common knowledge."

Rick grinned. "And I launder money for Tony 'The Bulldog' Manetti." He pushed his nose halfway across his face then let go, rubbing it.

"Everyone knows that too."

"I'm the love child of JFK and Marilyn Monroe, conceived years after in a test tube."

"Tell me something new."

"Okay. I'm a successful novelist with a lot of money in the bank and hoards of female followers."

"Okay, now you're heading into the realms of fantasy here."

He placed his hand on his heart. "I am shocked. Shocked that you wouldn't believe me."

Maggie laughed again, then said, more seriously, "Rick, I know we're joking here, but maybe it is something to do with you. Or at least the article she was writing."

He too had sobered. "Believe me, that has crossed my mind. Kate's too. She asked if I was about to flee the country."

"And are you?"

"Not yet."

"Good." Maggie paused. "You know, it could be maybe she dragged up something on someone close to you."

"You, perhaps?"

"Rick, my life is even more transparent than yours."

"We got up to stuff."

Maggie obviously had the same things in mind as he did, involving various animals, breaking and entering, all the normal things college students got up to. Right. "All … well, _mostly_ on public record. And outside the Statute of Limitations."

"Hope so."

"Alexis?" Maggie suggested.

"Doubt it. She hasn't had long enough to accumulate any dirty little secrets, no matter how often I beg her to."

He could tell his Mags was grinning again because of the way she said, "Come on, Rick. If she ever came to you with anything like that, you'd faint."

"I would not."

"Yes, you would. You'd be so shocked you wouldn't be able to speak."

"Well, maybe," Rick conceded. "But only because I know she won't."

"Then maybe it's your mother. Something sordid in her past."

"Her whole life's been sordid. She's worked very hard to keep it that way."

"What about … supposing it's your father."

"What?"

"Supposing Honor found out who he was? Or is? And the publication that he has an illegitimate son would ruin him."

Rick sat up slowly, digesting her words even as he automatically joked, "Even someone as ruggedly handsome and successful as me?"

"Even you, sweetie. But it was only an idea." She sounded like she was regretting suggesting it now.

"It's not a bad one," he admitted. "A pretty good plot device." His eyebrows drew together. "Trouble is, all my mother can remember is having a good time."

"Did she get anything out of it?"

"You mean apart from me?"

"You're a given."

"I think she mentioned something about a handkerchief once, but … I don't know, Mags."

"Then forget it. If she can't remember, how will anyone else?"

"Yeah." He smiled, even though he knew she couldn't see. "Yeah, let's forget about it." Still, he wondered if he was going to be able to sleep.

---

"Handkerchief?" Martha nibbled on the slice of toast. "I don't recall …" She shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

"Not that long," Rick said, pouring coffee.

"Years," she responded, sighing dramatically. "Years and years and –"

Alexis giggled.

"Yes, Mom, I get it." Rick shook his head. "It was just a thought."

"Although Maggie was right on one thing," Martha went on. "You _are_ a likely suspect. Perhaps you should make sure your passport is up to date."

"South America is nice this time of year," Alexis added, joining in the game. "Rio de Janeiro. Buenos Aires. Or perhaps –"

"Thanks for that amazing display of confidence," Rick said, smiling nevertheless.

"It's what we're here for." Martha put her arm around his shoulders and squeezed slightly.

"I knew there had to be a reason." He dipped his head quickly and took a bite of her toast.

"Hey!"

He grinned, chewing happily. "It's what you're here for," he mumbled around the mouthful. Then his cellphone rang, the distinctive melody suggesting Kate needed him. "And I've been saved by the bell." He hunted for a moment, before finding it down the back of the sofa. Using his thumb to open it he said, "What do we have?"

"A headache." Kate didn't quite sigh. "Meet me downstairs in ten minutes. We're going to see Honor's publisher."

Rick glanced at the clock. It was barely eight. "At this time of the morning?"

"Apparently he's on his way to London on the noon plane. It's now or never."

"And if he's the killer?"

"Then he won't be going anywhere."


	4. Chapter 4

"You keep quiet." Kate got out of the car, locking it automatically and then glaring at Rick over the top.

"Cross my heart." He suited the deed to the word.

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Not sure. Could it be because you understand I have this overwhelming need to find out the truth?" His eyebrows were raised, and there was the hint of a smile on his lips.

"I think it's more this overwhelming need for you to hear your own voice."

"Kate, that's hurtful."

"Just keep quiet. If I thought you'd stay I'd tell you to wait in the car, but since I hold out no hope of you actually ever doing that –"

"I do!" he interrupted.

"– all I can do is tell you to stay in the background. Understand?"

"Yes, boss." He saluted her.

For some reason she felt the need to explain. "Castle, you could be considered a suspect, and there are people who'd make a case for you not to be involved at all."

"I'll be good." He grinned. "You know, it's fun, being a suspect." He waited for her to join him. "I can do all sorts of things to make you suspicious."

"You already do."

"More so, then."

They headed towards the wide, glass-fronted building.

"You do that and I'll be forced to arrest you."

"Oh, handcuffs?" He held out his wrists hopefully.

"Don't tempt me."

"But temptation is such fun. Especially if spanking is involved."

"Just zip it, okay?"

"Fine." He mimed doing just that, popping the invisible key into his pocket.

She sighed and shook her head as they went through the revolving doors, feeling a sudden chill on their skins as they hit the air-conditioning turned up high.

Rick made a show of shivering, pulling his jacket up just a little bit higher. Kate ignored him, walking to the reception, all green marble and brushed steel.

"Can I help you?" the young woman standing behind asked, her eyes drifting away from Kate and settling on Rick.

Kate held up her badge. "Detective Beckett to see Dominic Stirling. He's expecting us."

The woman smiled at Rick. "And you're Mr Castle. Everyone here knows you."

He read her nametag just on the swell of her left breast. "Candy? Well, Candy, that's nice to know."

Candy beamed. "And we're so looking forward to reading Ms McAllister's article."

"You and me both."

Kate waved her badge between them. "Dominic Stirling?"

Candy focused on her with some reluctance. "Yes, of course." She checked her appointment list. "Floor 8. Camberwell Publications."

"Thank you." Kate strode for the back of the foyer, Rick smiling as he followed. "Candy," he heard her mutter. "Honestly. What kind of a name is that for a grown woman?"

"And she is definitely fully grown," Rick put in.

"I'm surprised you didn't ask her what the other one was called."

"Don't think it didn't occur to me." He grinned at her look as the elevator doors closed.

---

Dominic Stirling turned out to be a man in his early thirties who dressed like a man in his fifties, in loose wool pants, a checked shirt with the cuffs rolled up, and a sleeveless grey sweater. His hair, perhaps a little longer than strictly necessary, curled slightly on his collar, and on the coat stand by the door hung his jacket, unsurprisingly made of tweed. It even had leather patches on the elbows.

He looked as if he should be teaching medieval literature at some college rather than producing The Herald, and just the sight of him made Kate feel sweaty despite the air-con turned full up.

She held up her badge. "Mr Stirling. Kate Beckett, NYPD."

He came out from behind his desk, one hand held out. "Ms Beckett. Or should that be detective?"

"Either." They shook, and Kate was surprised at the firmness. Somehow she'd assumed he'd be weaker, and she made a mental note to be more careful over her assumptions.

"And this is Richard Castle." Stirling smiled. "I've read all of your books. I have to say, I was surprised to find you'd killed off Derrick Storm, but I suppose you have to keep your readers on their toes."

"Don't want them to get bored," Rick said, returning the favour. _Not like I was_, he added silently.

Kate pulled the interview back on track. "Mr Stirling, we've come to talk to you about Honor McAllister."

"Please, sit." Stirling turned from them to head back behind his desk, but not quickly enough that they didn't see the look of dismay cross his face. He sat down slowly, taking the moment to compose himself, and when he looked up it was with an open, friendly expression. "Mr Castle, I can assure you that there's no need to involve the police in this matter. The article has been scrupulously researched, and there will be nothing libellous in it. Our lawyers will make sure of that."

"Will?" Rick paused in the act of sinking into the soft leather chair. "You mean you haven't seen it yet?"

"No." Stirling seemed reluctant to admit it. He shook his head. "Honor doesn't let anyone know the details until she's ready with the story. Sometimes that makes it … awkward."

"Awkward? How?" Kate asked.

"As I said, we run everything past our team of lawyers. In this business we can't afford not to. And on occasion Honor has … shall we say, walked close to the line? Made the timescale very tight," he explained. "We live in a litigious society, Detective Beckett. And libel can be an expensive business."

"So not libellous. But you haven't said anything about it not being defamatory or derogatory."

Rick was impressed at his partner using such long words, even if technically they meant the same thing.

"Detective, we would soon lose our readers if there wasn't something … juicy inside." He smiled, something like a shark when seeing a defenceless porpoise. "People who buy The Herald like to think the worst."

"And you pander to that."

"Of course. It's an open market, and celebrities have made themselves targets."

Kate saw Rick nod slightly out of the corner of his eye, and she said quickly, "As it happens, the reason we're here may not be entirely unconnected to the article, but that's by no means certain."

He looked confused. "Then …"

"Mr Stirling, when did you last see Miss McAllister?"

"Mrs."

"Excuse me?"

"Honor's married. Or was. Ferdie McAllister. I never met the man, and Honor doesn't like to talk about him, but she kept the last name, although I doubt it was for sentimental reasons."

"Mrs McAllister, then. When did you last see or speak to her?"

He shrugged. "Two weeks. Perhaps more."

"Don't you keep track of your writers?"

Stirling half-smiled. "Detective, Honor works from home. Most of my staff writers do. We don't have the space for everyone to have a desk, at least not yet, so this is the best compromise."

"And you didn't think to try and contact her?"

"I did call. Left a couple of messages."

"And you weren't worried by her disappearance?" Rick asked, despite the glare he got from Kate for opening his mouth.

"Not really. When she's deep into her writing, she tends to forget everything else. And she was so looking forward to working on her piece on you." Stirling sat back and smiled at Rick. "You know, she's damn good writer. It's very rare I have to recommend any changes, and even then, she rewrites it herself. No-one ever takes a blue pencil to her work, not even me."

"What did she have on you?" Rick lifted his eyebrows. "Something juicy?"

Stirling declined to respond, merely shaking his head slightly, although both Kate and Rick were left with the impression that the answer was probably yes.

"Well, that won't be a problem anymore," Kate said.

"Oh? Why's that?"

"We have found a body, and preliminary investigations suggest it was Mrs McAllister." She kept a close eye on his reactions.

Which was a pity, because either Stirling was hearing this news for the first time, or he was a good actor, with excellent control over his face. He paled, and his eyes widened. Finally he managed to ask, "An accident?"

"That's … unclear."

Stirling's eyes narrowed as he pulled himself together. "But you're homicide."

Kate let him make the connections himself. "Yes."

"Somebody killed her?"

"We still don't have –"

"But you think it's her. You wouldn't be here if you didn't think it was her." He shook his head. "I can't believe she's dead."

"Did Honor have any enemies?" Rick asked. "Did she ever get any threats? With the sort of articles she was writing, there must be a lot of people who weren't happy."

"Everyone gets odd mail. I'm sure it's just the same with you, isn't it, Mr Castle?" His grey gaze didn't waver.

"To some degree."

"And Honor is … _was_ no different." It might have been for effect, but Stirling wiped at his mouth. "There were letters, a few emails … but nothing…" He looked at Kate. "How did it happen?"

"Her car went into the East River." She didn't mention the possible stab wound: better to keep that in reserve for the moment. "The body was inside."

"She always did drive too fast …" His eyes slid away, seeming to fix on nothing at all.

Kate had to interrupt his reverie. "Do you have any of this fan mail?"

He blinked hard, several times. "Yes. Yes, some. But most of it Honor liked to take home with her. She said she found it amusing."

"I'd like to see what you have."

"Of course." He picked up the phone, speaking quickly and telling his PA to get everything ready for them. Putting it back in the cradle, he looked up. "Is that … everything?"

"Just one more thing, Mr Stirling. We haven't been able to find a home address on Honor MacAllister. Do you have it?"

"Of course." He sat up and picked up an expensive-looking fountain pen. He scribbled on a post-it note, handing it across. "And you wouldn't. She rents under her real name."

Kate glanced at Rick. "Her real name?"

"I knew she couldn't be called 'Honor'," Rick stage-whispered. "Not intentionally."

"Oh, it was intentional," Stirling said. "She chose it on purpose. Said it gave her writing a taste of the upper classes."

"So who was she really?" Kate asked.

"Monique Hagan." He managed a smile. "I always thought that was much sweeter."

Kate stood up, Rick following her lead. "Thank you, Mr Stirling. We might be back with more questions."

"Of course." He got to his feet, shook her hand. "If there's anything else I can help you with, please don't hesitate to let me know. Honor was a part of our family here at Camberwell."

Rick felt something spike his attention, and he realised it was because that was the first obviously insincere thing the man had said, and he quietly underlined Stirling's name on his mental list of suspects.

As they went to leave, Stirling coughed, getting their attention again.

Kate raised her eyebrows. "Do you have something else to add?"

"Um … well … sort of. The car."

"The car," Kate repeated.

"I'm presuming it was the Mercedes."

"Yes."

"Because that actually belongs to us. We leased it to Honor, just for a small amount every month. It gave her something impressive to drive for when she needed to … you know."

"Impress someone."

"Yes." He paused, almost diffident this time. "Do you … is there any way I can have it back?"

"Not at the moment," Kate said. "The car's evidence."

"Ah."

"Besides," Rick said, needing to test the depth of this man's feelings. "It's been underwater for some time. With a corpse rotting in the front seat. I doubt anyone's going to want to take it over."

Stirling's face paled again. "Then I'll … leave it up to you to let me know when it's ready. I can easily send someone to pick it up, clean it, detail it."

_And not tell anyone what happened in it_, the treacherous thought crossed Kate's mind. "No problem," she said instead, her smile not reaching her eyes.

Outside the PA handed them a thick file, and as they headed back to the elevator Kate flicked through a couple of the letters, careful not to touch them.

"I know I shouldn't be surprised there are sick people out there," she said, reading one particularly lurid offering, "but I always am."

"That's because you're an innocent at heart," Rick assured her.

She raised an eyebrow at him as the doors closed in front of them.

Back outside in the hot, but somehow cleaner air, Rick paused before getting into the car. "Suspect?" he asked.

Kate shrugged. "I'm not sure. It looked like he didn't know she was dead, but …" Her lips tightened. "He's not telling us everything."

"You got that too, did you?"

"I'm a cop, Castle. It's what I do for a living."

"And very well too." He climbed inside, opening the window as far as it would go.

She followed a little slower, making sure the file of fan mail was safe on the back seat. "At least it isn't as much as yours," she commented, referring to the first time they'd worked together, and going through some frankly X-rated letters from women who should really know better. And some men, too, come to think of it.

Rick grinned. "That's because I'm a star."

"Right."

Kate started the engine and pulled the car into traffic.

After a minute, Rick spoke again. "Do you think they were a couple? Stirling and Honor."

When she didn't answer immediately he wasn't sure she'd heard, and was about to repeat the question, but she got there first. "I don't think so. I think maybe he wanted it to be, but she didn't."

"Unrequited love?" He rubbed his hands together. "Always a good plot twist."

"We'll look into it." She slowed for a red light.

"And the ex? What was it, Ferdie MacAllister?"

"Him too."

"You know, he sounds more like something out of an Agatha Christie novel. But if she dumped him ..."

Kate nodded, moving the car off again, and silence filled the interior as each were occupied with their own thoughts.

---

Rick stood at the large window, looking out across the trees towards the tip of Roosevelt Island, imagining he could see the police tape still cordoning off the area where the Mercedes had been dragged out. It wasn't that much of a stretch, though, since the condos weren't more than a good stone's throw away from the East River.

"At least we know what she was doing on the Island," he said, turning back. "But not this." He indicated the mess.

Honor McAllister's apartment was large, open-plan, and somewhat reminiscent of Rick's own loft. Except his place, even at the worst of his writer's block when he wandered aimlessly around in a towelling dressing gown and little else, was never as bad as this.

It had been searched, more than thoroughly. Papers were strewn everywhere, trampled into the carpet, or torn in half. The chairs had been gutted, covers sliced open and stuffing hanging out like intestines, with more tossed around the floor. Everything that was breakable had been broken, and every drawer hung crazily. Even the contents of the kitchen cupboards had been opened and tipped out.

"Don't touch anything," Kate said, her head inside the fridge, checking to see if there was anything of note in the ice box, although the steady drip of water suggested it had been open a long while.

Rick drew his fingers back sharply from a photo half obscured by the upended couch, thrusting his hands into his pockets before turning to smile innocently at her. "Wouldn't dream of it." It was one of his, anyway, a publicity shot from a few years before when he was younger, and (to be honest) skinnier. At least he still had his hair.

Kate stood straight and pulled her cellphone from her pocket. "They were looking for something," she said, dialling quickly.

"Did they find it?" He walked towards her, feeling cereal crunching under his feet.

"No idea." She held up her hand. "Just stay there."

"Why?"

"Because this is the primary crime scene." She nodded towards the floor as whoever she'd rung picked up.

He looked down at the pool of blood inexpertly wiped up. "Ah."

Kate spoke briefly, instructing Ryan to send the CSU around. As she finished she could see Rick was standing with his head upside down, apparently reading. "What?" she asked, joining him.

He pointed, careful not to let his finger touch the paper. "Looks like part of the article on me."

Kate turned her head, reading aloud. "'_Two wives, Mr Castle? Some people might say that was bordering on the greedy. Plus a daughter and a mother loving with you, with no father figure. Perhaps we should be looking in your closet for high heels and a beaded Versace strapless._'" She looked up at him. "Versace?"

"I prefer Chanel. It does wonders for the figure."

She smiled. "You know, that doesn't surprise me."

"It does me," he responded, warmed by the look on her face. "I've never even considered the possibility that I was gay."

"Not once? Not in all your wildest dreams?"

"Okay, now, you leave my wild dreams out of this." He held up a hand. "That's between me and my subconscious."

Teasing, she asked, "So that's why Derrick Storm was such a misogynist?"

"He loved women!"

"Really. Do you know how many of them died in your books?"

"I don't actually keep count." He grinned suddenly. "But I bet you do. I keep forgetting you're a fan."

"Aberration of youth."

Rather than get into an argument where he or his nose would probably come off worst, Rick looked around the apartment. "How'd they get her out?" he wondered aloud.

"Don't jump to conclusions. The blood might not be hers."

"Be a hell of a coincidence, though, don't you think?"

"I've seen worse."

Rick started to lean on the counter, then thought better of it, mainly because of the look Kate was giving him. "Do tell."

"No."

"Why not."

"And see it turn up in the next Nikki Heat novel?"

He smirked, just a little. "So you think there's going to be a second?"

"No."

"Don't you have any faith in my extraordinary talents?"

"No."

The smirk grew. "I still have the Mayor on speed-dial …"

"Oh, come on," she said in exasperation, heading out of the door. "CSU will be here soon, and Lanie should have finished the autopsy by now."


	5. Chapter 5

"I am _so_ good," Lanie Parish said, leading them into the cool blue room. "Just finished."

Wearing the obligatory smocks and visors, Kate and Rick gazed at the body, and both decided that it didn't look any better than when it was sitting in the car. The flesh that had been nibbled away gave a gruesome counterpoint to the blonde hair splayed out across the metal table. It wasn't helped by the neat line of stitches closing the autopsy Y-incision in the remains of the skin where clothes had protected it, reaching from beneath the sheet towards the shoulders.

"And?" Kate prompted.

Lanie pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then lifted the head from the block. "Single stab wound, between the second and third cervical vertebrae, severing the spinal column."

"Someone knew what they were doing."

"Or were lucky." Lanie put the head back, almost reverently. "Death was almost instantaneous."

"Almost?" Rick wanted to know, his imagination filling in a woman lying on the floor of that apartment, her blood leaching away, unable to move, to speak, to do anything except die.

"A few seconds at most. And I doubt she felt anything. She would have gone into shock immediately."

"Anything else?" Kate leaned a little closer, as if she could read the answer in the macabre scene.

"If it helps, it looks like maybe she was bent over. Perhaps showing someone something?" She demonstrated, leaning over at the waist. "Her head was dropped, which meant the knife went in cleanly." Looking down, she mimed someone stabbing at her neck.

"That's why you said they were lucky."

Lanie stood upright, nodding. "Mmn."

"Any idea on the weapon?"

"Not really. Narrow, maybe half an inch wide, serrated along one side. Could be a kitchen knife."

"A crime of opportunity, maybe," Kate mused.

"But there's something else."

Kate took half a step forward. "What?"

"I won't go into the boring detail, but there were indications … she was dying."

"I think that's probably certain," Rick commented dryly.

Lanie shook her head. "I mean before the murder. Terminal cancer. Her liver was riddled with it, and it had metastasized to her brain."

For a moment Kate was speechless, then she gathered herself enough to ask, "Would that have affected her judgement?"

"Well, I'm no neurologist, but I would think so. Her emotions might be heightened, her ability to form coherent thoughts, even paranoia …" Lanie shrugged. "You really need to talk to her doctor."

"Would she have known?" Rick asked.

"Oh, yes. There'd be enough specific symptoms she'd have gone to see someone, and they should have their licence revoked if they didn't pick up on it."

"Except she's not being treated," Rick noted. Kate turned to look at him in surprise, and he expanded, "She's still got her hair. Virtually all cancer treatments involve hair loss."

Lanie smiled slightly as if he'd was a student who'd got a particularly tricky question right. "There's no sign she's had any kind of surgery, or radiation therapy, although I've sent samples to tox, see if they come up with something unusual."

Rick stirred again. "It couldn't be … some kind of suicide?" He almost stepped back at the intensity of Kate's glare, but held his ground. "I'm just saying. Like Keith."

Kate, about to tell him not to be stupid, paused. Keith Neidermann was a recent case, whose grief at his girlfriend's death caused him to persuade his friends to kill him, under the guise of being resurrected as a vampire. Kazia Bazyli, one of those responsible, was still under psychiatric care. "No," she said finally. "Not like Keith. They wouldn't have torn up her place like that, if that were the case."

"They searched it?" Lanie's eyebrows lifted.

"Top to bottom," Rick confirmed. "We just don't know what they were looking for."

Kate was suddenly all business. "But we're going to find out." She looked back at her friend. "Time of death?"

"Undetermined. Best guess would be three to four days ago."

Rick was surprised. "She's in that state from four days in the water?"

Lanie favoured him with a smile. "Like I told you – most of the damage was done by things snacking on her."

"How long?" When both of them looked at her, Kate expanded, "Until the cancer got her. How long did she have?"

"Six months. Maybe a year. No longer."

"Would it have been painful?"

"Oh, yes."

"Then someone delivered a coup de grace," Rick muttered.

"I doubt they were being merciful." Kate nodded. "Thanks, Lanie."

"No problem, sugar. Soon as I have the results of the tox, and any trace, I'll let you know."

"Okay."

Rick headed out of the door, and Lanie grabbed Kate's arm, making her stay for a moment while she watched Rick pull the smock off his arms, a faint damp patch of perspiration showing on the shirt fabric in the small of his back. The door swung silently to.

"You any further on?" she asked quietly.

"Further on with what?"

"Now, honey, don't you be obtuse with me. You know exactly what I'm asking." She glanced significantly towards the outer room.

"And you know there's nothing."

"Only 'cause you won't give your pride the heave-ho."

"It's nothing to do with that," Kate insisted, dragging the visor from her eyes.

"Kate, even all sweaty, the man's a treat. Now, you're a detective, you know that. So why not try him on for size?" Her gaze was steady. "If you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean." Oh, Kate knew all right. It came up in every conversation they had, including the previous evening's as they drove to the Island. "Lanie, for the last time, I'm not interested."

Lanie sighed heavily. "Then you'd better lie down on that empty table. Because you must be dead, girl."

"No. Just … picky."

The door opened again and Rick stuck his head around. "Ladies, as much as I hate to break up this obviously very interesting conversation – and I know it's about me – but it's time to leave. Unless you fancy a threesome?"

Lanie laughed, but Kate glared at him, refusing to even speak to him until they were outside.

As they reached the car, she turned on him. "Lanie is an official of the City of New York. She's so well qualified they didn't have enough room to put all her letters on the door. You don't get to speak to her like that."

"Like what?" He was honestly confused.

"You know."

"Kate, I have no idea."

"Offering her a threesome."

He tossed his hands in the air. "It was a joke!"

"Well, I didn't think it was funny." She undid the car door, half her mind surprised the key didn't snap off in her hand. She knew she had no right to be this pissed, but Lanie pushing her yet again had annoyed her, and she was taking it out on the nearest person, who just happened to be the subject of that push.

"_She_ did."

"That's not the point!"

"Kate, what is it?" He sounded genuinely concerned. "We'll get this guy. You know that." His eyes flashed mischief. "Or is it that time of the month again?"

The look she shot him across the hood of the car should have floored him there and then. "Castle, if you were someone else I'd –"

"What, Katie? Sleep with me?"

"No. Kill you. And don't call me Katie."

"Then don't assume you know me." Despite the heat there was a sudden drop in temperature between them. "I'm as juiced up to get this killer as you are, and if I make inappropriate jokes it's just my way of dealing with things."

"Just so you can write a book."

His voice dropped to a more gentle tone. "No, Kate. Just so we can put a madman behind bars."

They stared at each other for a long moment, then a truck hooted close by, breaking the spell.

Kate was the first to look away. "I'm sorry," she said, opening the door. "I don't know … sorry." She climbed in.

He followed, slower, more thoughtful. "It's okay." He reached out to put his hand on her thigh, but withdrew it before they touched. "You have to let loose sometimes. And if you want to let loose on me, go ahead. I'll be here whenever you need it."

At that Kate's lips twitched. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

The ice had thawed as suddenly as it arrived, and Rick grinned. "Depends on your point of view. Come on. I'll buy you lunch."

"Lunch?"

But visions of caviar at Sardi's were dashed as he directed her to park close to a hotdog stand not far off.

"This?" she asked, looking out of the window.

"The best in New York," Rick responded, clambering out and greeting the vendor like an old friend. "Hey, Vic, how's it hanging?"

"Better than yours," the man said. In his sixties, his shoulder-length grey hair was caught back in a ponytail at his neck, and his check-shirt was open to his waist to reveal a white singlet beneath. His eyes, black as coal, twinkled. "This your lady?"

"One of them." Rick laughed. "You know me. A new one every week."

"And you're a bad liar," Vic observed. "Your usual?"

"Absolutely." Rick leaned into the car. "What would you like?"

"How can you?" she asked, shaking her head at him. "After seeing Honor like that."

"You're not hungry?"

"No." She ignored the pangs at the smell of frying onions. "I don't understand you. You nearly threw up when you saw her for the first time. And now … what, you've suddenly grown a cast iron stomach?"

"No. But now it's just a body. Back then it was a person, someone who'd had hopes and dreams, needs and fears. Now? It's just a collection of miscellaneous parts that aren't of much use to anyone."

She stared at him. "It's still a person."

"No, it's not." He held up a hand to forestall her objections. "It depends on your point of view, I suppose. Do you know what Einstein said about relativity?"

For a moment Kate wondered if he was deliberately trying to change the subject, but decided to give him a little rope. "No. What did he say?"

"Gaze at a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. Sit on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. That's relativity."

"So?"

"So it's all relative. Now it's in the morgue, it's a body. That's all. And we're going to catch the bad guy that put her there."

Kate was surprised that he understood the distinction. She felt the same way, and it was faintly shocking to realise that he did too. She had to – if she took on every single case and made it personal, she wouldn't be able to do her job. But Rick … _Castle_ was a writer, and an immature one at that. "Fine," she said, turning to Vic, who was watching them with a wide grin on his face. "Give me one with everything." She jerked her head towards Castle. "He's paying."

---

Rick was still licking his fingers as they exited the elevator onto the fourth floor of the precinct and headed for the squad room. "I'm just going to …" He nodded towards the rest rooms.

She nodded, but carried on into the bull pen, seeing Ryan at his desk surrounded by newsprint, and Esposito at the murder board. "Okay, people," she said. "Talk to me."

Ryan got there first, reading from his notebook. "Ferdie McAllister, born Ferdinand McAllister, November 22nd 1965. AKA Freddie Dunlap. AKA Philip Gilson. Married one Monique Hagan in 1992, divorced in 2001. He's got a record – among other things he's done time for blackmail and extortion."

"Maybe he graduated to murder." Kate perched on the desk.

"Except he's a dead-end." Ryan carefully moved the newspapers. "Currently he's doing eight to ten for fraud in Attica."

"No wonder she divorced him."

"She loved him," Rick corrected, walking through the open doorway and wiping his hands on a blue paper towel.

"How did you get that?" Kate asked.

"She kept his last name." Rick tossed the towel towards a waste bin, mentally giving himself three points when it went in and didn't even touch the sides.

"_One_ of his last names."

Rick smiled. "Some people do actually fall in love, Kate."

"So I've heard. And that keeps all the divorce lawyers in Armani."

"Kate, Kate. Such a jaundiced view at such a young age." He skipped backwards out of the range of her slap. "Hey, I didn't call you Katie!"

She glared at him, then said, "I suppose it makes an odd sort of sense."

"What does?"

"Honor and McAllister. He was in the information business, even if it was for profit."

"Probably where she learned her 'investigative techniques." Rick even did the air-quotes.

"Blackmail, extortion … not such a leap to sleazy articles."

"Besides, if you want to know how to dig the dirt on someone, ask a pro." Rick smiled. "I did, for _Never Pay the Piper_."

"You introduced Derrick Storm in that one," Ryan added, then saw the various expressions on their faces. "What?"

"If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you." Kate switched her gaze to Esposito. "Tell me you've got something before I commit murder and you have to arrest me."

The detective was grinning, but managed to stifle it. "Not much. I've found three bank accounts in her name, but I'm still waiting for a warrant for the information."

"You want me to call Markoway?" Rick offered, his hand already half-way to his pocket.

"No, thanks. I already did."

Rick laughed. "I think I've been a really bad influence on you people." He grinned. "I'm glad to say."

Kate shook her head. "You must be so proud." She turned to Ryan to tell him to keep digging on Honor's contacts, then noticed what was covering his desk. "Is that The Herald?" she wanted to know.

Esposito looked like the cat who cleaned out the whole dairy. "It's Kevin's own private collection," he said. "It seems he's an avid reader."

Kate turned to stare at her colleague. "No. Tell me it isn't true."

"It's how he knew about the article coming up on Castle."

"I'm not that avid," Ryan complained. "I … dip. Occasionally."

Kate flipped through the copies. "It looks to me like they're all here."

"That's because they have good articles."

"Right." Rick perched next to Kate, picking up an idle copy. "And it has nothing to do with the fact that they have the occasional naked woman?"

"Do they?" Esposito took a sudden interest.

"How do you know that?" Kate asked, her eyebrows raising. "I thought you said it was trash."

"It is." Rick chuckled. "But for research purposes I need to … peruse these kinds of things once in a while. You know. Keep my finger on the pulse of society."

"Besides," Ryan put in, "I thought they might become a collector's item. One of these things that don't last, so … they might be worth something." He took the magazine from Rick's fingers, smoothing it carefully.

"Of course that's the reason," Kate said, heading for the murder wall.

"So, did you get anything out of Dr Parish?" Ryan changed the subject deftly, although from the look on Rick's face, this wasn't the last he was going to be hearing about it.

"Single stab wound to the back of the neck. No sign of any defensive wounds, so she probably knew her attacker."

"And the weapon?" Esposito was back to business.

"As yet, could be anything. Lanie's looking into it more." She skimmed one of the articles on a fashionable debutante, then picked up another, her eyes flickering through it. "You know, these are pretty mild."

Ryan nodded. "That's what I thought." He tapped one of the pages. "Remember him?"

Kate dropped her head in thought for a moment, her dark hair falling into her face. "Walter Drake. Mmn. Name rings a bell."

"Head of Drake Pharmaceuticals." Ryan looked disgusted. "We suspected him of child molestation. His nanny's kids."

Kate nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do." She stood up. "Nobody would testify."

"He's worth a lot of money. Multi-millionaire, up in the high hundreds."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then why isn't there even a hint in this article?"

"Exactly."

"Everyone has their secrets," Rick said slowly. "Or so I've been told."

"Blackmail?" Esposito suggested.

Kate leaned back on the desk. "It's possible. She was in the perfect position. All that research, all those little things people don't want to see the light of day … and she'd seen Ferdie do the same, maybe learned from the pitfalls. All she had to do was make a discreet appointment, show them the original article, suggest that she could leave out some of the facts … For a financial consideration, of course."

Rick was impressed. "You have a sneaky mind, Kate."

"It must be all this hanging around with you."

"I'm glad to be such a good role model."

She ignored him. "All the more reason we need to know what's in her bank accounts."

"I'll hurry them up." Esposito looked back at Rick, a slight grin on his face. "So, is that what she did to you? Tell you she'd make the story snowy white if you paid her?"

Rick shook his head. "Nope. I haven't heard a thing from her."

"But if you had. What would you have done?"

Pursing his lips in thought, Rick thrust his hands into his jeans pockets. "Not paid, that's for sure."

"You'd have ridden it out?"

"Pretty much." He shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first time something's appeared in print that was embarrassing."

"Not with your history, no," Kate commented quietly.

He half-smiled.

"So what could she have known?" Esposito asked. "What deep, dark secrets are in your past?"

"If I knew, and I told you, then they wouldn't be secrets any more, would they?"

"Hang on a sec. Does this mean there are secrets but you won't say, or that there aren't?" Ryan wanted to know.

"I still say we should arrest him." Esposito flicked his handcuffs from the holder at his waist.

"Good idea," Ryan said.

"And after I bought you an espresso machine." Rick shook his head. "This is how you thank me."

"So that was only bribery?"

"Of course." He grinned. "But the best kind."

Kate watched in amusement as they argued good-naturedly. She knew she should stop them, tell them to get on with their work. But life couldn't be all about the job, and they needed to joke once in a while, even if it was entirely inappropriate kidding over if Rick was a potential murderer or not. _Castle_, she reminded herself as her phone rang and she reached over to pick it up. _Not Rick. Castle. _"Beckett."

"_Sugar, is Rick with you?" _Lanie sounded unusually tense.

Kate glanced at the man himself. "Yes, he is. Why?"

"_Because you need to tell him to go. Now."_

"Lanie, what are you talking about?" From where she was standing she could see into Montgomery's office, and idly noted he was on the phone. Then he looked up sharply, his eyes on the author.

"_I'm hoping it's not true, but ..."_

Whatever she was going to say was lost as three men hustled into the squad room.

"There," one of them said, pointing at Rick.

The lead nodded, striding through the desks. "Richard Castle."

Rick turned. "That's me."

He flashed his badge. "I'm Detective Brant." He nodded to his colleagues. "You are under arrest for the murder of Honor McAllister." One of the other officers grabbed Rick's shoulder, forcing him around and pulling his wrist behind him.

"Hey!" Rick protested.

"You have the right to remain silent –"

"What's going on?" Ryan asked, trying to stop them.

"Step back, Detective," the shorter, stockier of the trio said, stepping in front.

"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right –"

Kate was on her feet, the phone forgotten and dropped to the desk. "What do you think you're doing?"

Montgomery appeared at her side. "Beckett, don't."

She turned to him, her eyes flaring. "They're arresting him!"

"I know."

"Aren't you going to stop them?"

"No." He watched as Rick was handcuffed.

"If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you –"

Rick looked at Kate, pleading with her to do something.

"Sir ... Captain ... this isn't necessary," Kate insisted.

"It's out of my hands, Kate."

Brant turned Rick back to face him. "Do you understand each of these rights as I have explained them to you?"

Looking somewhat befuddled, Rick nodded. "I guess. Yes."

"Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to us now?"

Rick glanced at Kate, who could only stare back. He licked his lips. "You know, I don't think I do. I think I need a lawyer before I say another damn word."

"Your choice." Brant jerked his head. "Take him."

"_Kate? Kate?"_ Lanie's voice sounded forlornly from the forgotten phone.


	6. Chapter 6

Rick had been taken to the interrogation room on the floor below, escorted by two of the police officers while Brant was still in Homicide's squad room, having a private conversation with Ryan and Esposito. Kate, meanwhile, had stormed into Montgomery's office, her usually deferential air subsumed under anger.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

"What it looks like." Montgomery held up a hand. "There was a tip, apparently from a normally reliable source."

Her jaw dropped. "They've arrested Castle … on a _tip_?"

"Not just that." He closed the door, wary of eavesdroppers. "Beckett, this is between us, and the only reason I know is because a friend gave me the heads-up."

Kate nodded slowly. Lanie had tried to do the same thing. "What happened?"

"The tip came directly to Paul Stavich." He saw Kate's eyes narrowing. Stavich was a cop in Serious Crimes who had a reputation for putting people behind bars, but with less than a decent regard for their guilt. "Like I said, a normally reliable source. He spoke to his captain, who spoke to … well, it went up the line. Then the CSUs found an electronic datebook in Honor McAlister's apartment. It shows she had an appointment to meet Castle four days ago."

"Why didn't they get back to me?" she wanted to know. "I'm the officer in charge."

"Because they know who Castle is. Hell, everyone in the precinct knows that you two work together. And Stavich asked."

"He asked?"

Montgomery paused, knowing this was going to be a bombshell. "They're taking you off the case."

Her mouth dropped open. "You're joking."

"I don't joke about things like this." His dark face was sympathetic, understanding, but he said, "This comes from high up, Kate. Higher than you'd believe. Higher than _I _believe."

"What about the Mayor? He's a friend of Castle's. Surely he can –"

"Not his call."

She started to pace. "Captain, this is insane."

"Kate, I can only tell you what I know. But the case has been reassigned. To him."

"It's all circumstantial."

"I know. And Stavich was maybe a bit forward in sending his men to arrest Castle. But it was enough for a search warrant. They're serving it now, on his apartment and car."

"I want to speak to Castle."

"No." Montgomery shook his head firmly. "You're too close."

"Sir, please. Just for a few minutes. To … check."

Her boss smiled, very faintly. "That's he's innocent?"

"That he's not guilty."

The smile grew a little. "Yes, I can imagine that's a distinction that might be applied in this case."

"Just for a few minutes," she said again.

He gazed at her, then nodded. "Let me see what I can do."

"Thanks."

Montgomery strode out of his office, wary of doing what he planned over the phone. Kate watched him go then walked slowly back into the bull pen. Brant had gone, probably off to arrest more innocent people. _No, don't do that_, she berated herself internally. _If there's evidence …_ Except she knew that evidence sometimes lied. And no matter what Castle was, however arrogant or immature he could be, she was pretty sure he hadn't lied to her yet.

Ryan and Esposito were talking in low tones, and it looked like maybe they were arguing. Whatever it was, Esposito won. He approached her as she stood flicking through the files on her desk, not seeing a word.

"Beckett?"

She looked up, managing a smile, no matter that it was just a twist of her lips. "Javier." She hardly ever used his first name.

"I just wanted to say … this sucks."

"Yeah."

He glanced at Ryan. "It's just … apparently Stavich wants us to stay on the case. Probably to make himself look magnanimous. Except that means …"

Kate patted his arm. "I understand."

Esposito looked confused. "You do?"

She nodded. "He's told you not to talk to me about the case."

The confusion turned to sheepishness. "Pretty much."

"It's okay." Kate chuckled. "I'd have done the same."

Ryan joined them. "It's still not right," he asserted.

"Maybe not."

"I mean, he didn't do it."

"We know that. But at least you're going to be in a position to make sure Stavich doesn't … ignore anything."

"We can do that," Esposito said.

"Then that's all I care about. That you do your job." The phone rang and she picked it up quickly. "Beckett." She listened a moment. "On my way." She dropped the receiver back on the cradle and half ran out of the room.

---

Rick was alone. This particular interrogation room looked exactly like the one upstairs, except there was a black mark on the wall as if someone had kicked it. Maybe they had. He'd heard stories about Serious Crimes, not all of them good.

At least they'd taken off the handcuffs, probably thinking he was incapable of escaping. _Trouble is, they're probably right_, he considered. He glanced around surreptitiously, then realised that would only look like he was guilty, and stared at the mirror. He even waved, but no-one came in.

The two detectives had bundled him into the elevator and taken the short ride down one storey, not saying a single word, no matter how much he tried to get them to speak. They'd just dumped him in the room and left him to his own devices. Maybe they thought it might make him confess. _Cold day in hell before that happens, guys_, he thought to himself. _I've gotten out of worse scrapes than this._ Honesty gave him a kick in the hindbrain. _Admittedly, not that much worse …_

He was studying his fingernails and wondering if Rikers Island had a manicurist when the door opened, and Kate Beckett hurried through. He was on his feet in a second.

"Kate, I didn't do it."

She motioned him to sit, doing so herself opposite him. "Tell me."

"What? I don't know anything."

"Something. Anything."

"I never even met the woman."

"That's not stopping Stavich." She briefly went over what Montgomery had told her, leaving out only that she was no longer in charge. "They're serving the warrant now."

Rick's face had paled. "Kate, you have to stop them."

"I can't."

"I didn't kill anyone. And I didn't make any appointment."

Kate sat back, watching his face, wondering if he was lying after all, if she had got the wrong measure of this man. "Can you prove it?"

"I …" He took a deep breath. "Do I have to? To you?"

"It might help."

"Katie, you must believe me."

"I'm a cop. I deal in evidence, proof. Belief doesn't come into it."

"Even with me?"

"Even with you."

He stared at her, but it was calculating. "Then you do your job. Because I didn't do this, and I know you can find out who did."

The door slammed open. "That isn't going to happen," the man standing there said.

Kate stood up slowly. "Stavich."

"Detective Beckett." He half-smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "I'd ask what the hell you're doing in my interrogation room, but I think I know the answer." His eyes slid to Rick then back again. "Can't keep away, can you?"

"What are you implying?" Kate asked, her tone just as cold.

"Implying? Nothing. Making an observation."

Rick watched the stand-off, feeling something akin to pride that Kate wasn't letting him phase her, but also taking note of Stavich. The man was tall, probably taller than himself, and broad shouldered, like perhaps he'd played football in college and had forgotten to take off the pads under his shirt. His hair, a mousy brown, was cut short to his scalp, probably to give him a more dangerous air. Like he needed it. The effect was heightened as he crossed his arms, the muscles threatening to split his shirtsleeves.

"And you shouldn't even be here," Stavich continued. "You're off the case."

"What?" Rick's jaw dropped, but neither took any notice off him.

"I'm still a cop," Kate countered.

The smile widened a fraction, like a shark smelling blood in the water. "For the moment. But if you don't get your ass out of here right now, you're going to be off the force, too."

Kate moved closer. "Are you threatening me?"

"Do I need to?"

All the things she could say scrolled through her mind, but she bit back on every single one of them. She turned her back on Stavich, quite deliberately, and looked at Rick. "Don't say a word until your lawyer gets here," she said.

Rick swallowed. "I don't intend to."

"Good." She couldn't say anything else, not with Stavich standing there, glaring into her spine so she could feel it like heat running up her skin, but hopefully Rick could see by her eyes that she wasn't going to let this slide. "Hold on," she mouthed.

He nodded.

"How sweet," Stavich said. "And touching. Now leave."

Kate's glare should have burned him on the spot to leave nothing but a pile of ash, but he just smiled that infuriating smirk. Without a backward glance she strode out of the room, not surprised when Stavich followed, the door closing behind him with a chilling sound of finality. Suddenly she span on her heel, face to face with the other detective, so close she could have kicked or kissed him. She did neither.

"His lawyer will have him out in ten minutes," she said scathingly.

The smirk grew, and for a moment Kate wondered how it could look so at home on Rick's face and so slimy on Stavich.

"Really."

"Yes, really. Just because we have history doesn't mean you can take it out on Castle."

He leaned down, his breath moving her hair. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

She wanted to move back, to scrub her mind of the images that kept popping up, of a time when she thought Stavich was one of the good guys, and had even let him into her life a little after Will Sorenson left. She held her ground. "If you don't have any proof beyond circumstantial, I know it."

"Circumstantial." He glanced down into her blouse, then back up to her face. "I don't think the murder weapon is circumstantial, do you?"

Her heart seemed to skip a beat. "Murder weapon?"

"Mmn. Your boy's guilty as shit." He breathed in deeply. "Still wearing that gardenia perfume?"

She wanted to shudder. "No."

"Must be you, then. I always did think you smelled wonderful," he whispered.

"You want a harassment suit thrown at you?" she said, equally quietly. "Because if you don't step back, that's what's going to happen."

A slow grin slid across his face, but he moved back a pace. "Katie, as if you'd do that."

"Do not call me Katie." She could feel the urge to hit him growing with every second. "You don't have the right."

"Fine, Detective Beckett. Now get off my floor, before I have you escorted." He looked up and clicked his fingers to alert another member of his team. "I have a murder suspect to interview." He turned away from her and went back into the interrogation room.

Brant slipped past her, following his boss, but he gave her a sympathetic look as he did so.

She caught a final glimpse of Castle, looking surprisingly relaxed, but there was a slight twitch at the corner of his eye that gave him away just as the door closed again.

God, she needed a shower. Just being in the same room now as Paul Stavich was enough to make her want to burn her clothes. How she could ever have thought …

Someone touched her elbow, and she turned to face Captain Montgomery.

"Well?" he asked. "Did you find out what you needed?"

Kate nodded slowly. "He didn't do it."

"That's good to know."

"Except they've found the murder weapon."

"Where?"

"Stavich didn't say."

Montgomery gazed at her, seeing the concern he'd always known she had for anyone wrongly accused, but upped to the tenth degree because this was Richard Castle they were talking about. He held back the sigh. "Even more reason for you to distance yourself."

Her eyes flashed. "I can't! He's my partner!"

"He's a civilian."

"So everyone drops him? Is that how this works?"

Montgomery pulled her into a quieter corner. "Kate, right now, you can't be seen to be involved, you know that. Any suggestion that you're in collusion with him and your gun and badge will be on my desk before morning."

Her eyes widened. "Are you –"

"I'm suggesting you go home."

"But –"

"In fact, why don't you take some time off? I know you haven't had any for months."

"I've been busy. And right now I need to work this case."

"No. You _need_ to go home and not come back for a few days. And don't look on that as a request."

"Sir … Captain …" She wanted to try again, despite the look on his face that she knew meant he wasn't going to have his mind changed.

"Find something else to do. Read. Write, maybe. Rick told me you had a book you were working on. Maybe get that out. Do some research."

"Some …" She slammed her lips shut. He was giving her permission. No, not permission. Understanding. Not officially, of course, but he knew she wasn't going to let this lie. She took a breath. "Some leave, sir?"

"A few days. Maybe a week or two. As long as you need."

_Oh, yes. Definitely understanding_. "That … sounds like a good idea."

He smiled slightly, resting his hand on her arm for a second. "Starting now."

"Yes, sir."

Hurrying down the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator, she picked up her things under the gaze of her colleagues.

"Boss?" Ryan asked tentatively.

"You keep working," she said, glancing at the murder wall, Castle's photo now prominently displayed right at the top. "I'm just taking a few days leave."

"You?" The word flew from his lips before he could hold it back.

She dragged up a smile. "Me. I do. Sometimes."

"I don't even remember the last time," Esposito said. "Unless you count that time you had pneumonia."

"And even then you were back before the doc said you could," Ryan added.

"It's just a few days." She stood straight. "And make sure everyone knows this isn't a suspension. Just something I have to do."

Ryan and Esposito exchanged a look that suggested they had leaped to the right conclusion.

"Boss …" Ryan's face was concerned.

"It's fine," she insisted. "Like I said, just keep working the case. And don't let Stavich railroad anyone."

"By anyone you mean –"

"I mean anyone."

Esposito nodded. "Yes, boss."

Again she flashed a smile, then was gone from the bull pen, this time waiting for the elevator. A buzzing from her pocket indicated she had a call, and she pulled her cellphone free. "Beckett."

"Kate?"

"Alexis?"

"Oh, Kate!"

"What is it?" The elevator doors opened, but she ignored them, concentrating on the distressed sounds coming over the phone. "Alexis, tell me."

"The police … they came to the apartment. They …" It sounded like she was trying not to cry. "They searched. Oh, Kate, they've made such a mess!" As if that was the important part.

"Alexis. It's okay. Do you hear me? It's okay. I'm on my way over, right now."

"Really?"

"Really. Where's your grandmother?"

"She's … she's out with friends." Alexis hiccupped softly. "I rang, but her … phone's going through to voicemail. I don't know when she'll be … be back."

Kate ran for the stairs, not wanting to wait. "I'm coming, Alexis. Right now."

"Thank you." The gratitude in the young girl's voice was almost painful. "What they said … is …" She couldn't finish.

Kate was running down the steps, two at a time, holding on with one hand just to stop herself from falling in her haste, but it never occurred to her to lie to Alexis. "Yes, sweetie. It's true. But not all of it. Your father's been arrested, but he didn't do anything."

"I know that." There was a trace of asperity now, and Kate couldn't help but grin. She might look like she was a tender shoot, but there was steel inside that delicate frame.

"And you can tell him off for putting you through this when you see him next."

"Will I?"

"Of course you will. We just need to get him out of this mess."

"I'm so glad it's you," Alexis said, at least sounding calmer now.

"Of course it's me. And we'll sort it out." She was at the parking garage. "Alexis, I need to hang up so I can drive. Okay?"

"Okay."

She stopped by her car, fishing in her pocket for her keys. "Is the front door locked?"

"Yes."

"Then go into your Dad's study and get out one of his books."

"What?"

"You're going to read for a while. Alexis, they helped me. They're going to help you."

"Helped you?"

"Maybe I'll tell you later. But just do it, okay?" She slid behind the steering wheel.

"Which one?"

"Uh … _Killing Cousins_."

Alexis laughed, a very welcome sound. "That's one of my favourites. It's so bad."

Kate smiled. "I know." She turned the key, starting the engine. "Alexis, I'll be there soon."

"Okay. Do you have a secret knock?"

"How about I shoot the lock off?" Kate countered.

"That works."

The line went dead, and Kate tossed the phone onto the seat beside her as she pushed down on the accelerator, pulling swiftly out of her space and up towards the street. She had to wait to get into the stream of traffic, and an idle part of her mind noted a limousine parked outside the precinct, disgorging its passenger from the back, all skin tight skirt and crisp white blouse, topped with blonde hair caught into a chignon at the back of her neck. A frisson of recognition bloomed in Kate's memory, but it was gone as she took advantage of a cab just a hair slow in moving forward, filling the space and making any number of cars hoot at her.

---

It seemed like hours. Hours in that interrogation room, on the wrong side of the table, facing someone who wasn't Kate. Facing someone who was convinced he was guilty.

In truth it was only minutes, maybe fifteen, but it might as well have been hours from the way Detective Stavich was trying to intimidate him, with Brant playing a version of _bad cop, worse cop_.

At least, until Petra Bentley swept in.

Tall, blonde and stacked, Petra was one of the best defence lawyers in the city, and she knew it.

"My client is not answering any more of your questions," she stated as soon as she walked in.

Stavich drew himself up to his full height, having a handful of inches on the newcomer. "Really."

"Yes, really. I need to consult with Mr Castle, and that will be in private, without any of your recording devices."

"Ms Bentley, that's unkind."

"Detective Stavich, that doesn't make it less than true." She raised an immaculate eyebrow. "Your reputation suggests you're not above listening in on private conversations."

"I'm surprised you're not demanding to know what evidence we've got."

"I already know." Petra was so cool it was as if the phrase 'ice queen' had been invented for her. "Your captain was most forthcoming."

Stavich growled, deep in the back of his throat, and Brant shot him a warning look. "Fine. Take all the time you need. And the cameras are off."

"Good." She stepped to one side. "Now, if you don't mind?"

His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed, Stavich stormed out, Brant following a moment later.

As the door closed, Petra turned to look at her client. "Richard. What have you managed to get yourself into this time?"


	7. Chapter 7

Petra Bentley. Cool, calm, collected … and he could think of other words to describe her. Ruthless sprang to mind. Determined. Single-minded. Controlling. Oh, yes, that was the one that he preferred the best. For various painful reasons.

Rick let his eyes run up and down her figure, and she stood still, allowing him the privilege, a tiny smile barely creasing her lip. "You look good," he said eventually, and she did, from the palest of tans on her milky skin, to the handmade Italian shoes on her feet.

"Money does that." Apparently having enough of being studied, she sat down, crossing one ankle elegantly over the other to just the hiss of silk. Even in weather like this, Petra Bentley was never seen without stockings, a throwback somehow to 1950s film noir, and Rick wouldn't have been surprised to find she carried a tiny two-shot derringer in her designer purse.

No wonder he'd created a character just for her, the femme fatale who finally did for Derrick Storm. At least Derrick had had the pleasure of her body first, before she blew his brains all over the antique headboard. Of course, he and Petra had been something of an item for a short time just before he wrote that scene …

"Now what?" Rick finally asked, hoping his thoughts weren't any kind of omen.

"Now we go over the facts." Opening her briefcase she removed a yellow legal notepad and a pen which she placed on the table, taking a moment to align the edges exactly.

"The facts are I didn't do it."

"Of course."

"Petra, I didn't do it." This time he was more forceful.

She lifted her head, her eyes fixing him. They were a blue that verged on violet, but right now they were filled with ice. "Of course."

No wonder she was good at her job. Any witness lying on oath had better watch out when she wheeled out the big guns like that. "No, I mean I really didn't. I don't know what proof they think they have, but I never even met the woman."

"They found the murder weapon. Or at least something they think is the murder weapon. A steak knife, in the cutlery drawer of your apartment."

"In my …" He couldn't even begin to wonder how it got there. "That's crazy."

"Oh, there's more. When they searched your car, they found Honor McAllister's laptop, and several items of jewellery. I gather Detective Stavich is of the opinion that you took them in an attempt to make it look like a burglary gone wrong."

"Then why would I dump the body in the East River?" he asked pointedly, leaning forward on the table. "Petra, think about it. If I planned on making it look like a robbery, wouldn't I leave the woman where she was?"

"Perhaps you were interrupted and panicked."

"By wrapping her up in something and dragging her to her car? Do they really think I'm that stupid?"

"Wrapping her up?"

"It didn't look like there was blood anywhere else but in the kitchen."

She uncapped her pen, made a tiny note on the pad. "So you've been to her apartment."

"With Kate. Kate Beckett. Detective Beckett. My partner. The one and only time." He wondered idly why he was having to explain himself to his own lawyer, and underlying that was why he needed to be so clear over Kate's role in his life.

"Your partner."

"In crime. So to speak," he added quickly. "I'm studying her for Nikki Heat."

"Oh, yes. Your new novel." She couldn't have sounded less interested.

Rick's eyes widened. "Is that was this is all about? Why I'm getting treated to the third degree? Perdita Boston?"

She gazed at him, the began to recite, as if reading off a crib sheet. "_Perdita, her long blonde hair tipped with Derrick's blood, leaned over him, her lips running briefly across his, but there was no breath parting them, nothing to say that only a few moments before this had been a living man in the throes of ecstasy, and now…'_" She stopped. "Why would I be mad about that?"

"I didn't use your name."

"No. But Perdita was an attorney, with a taste for elegant clothes and limousines." Petra's voice lowered. "And you had her kill your greatest creation."

"So far. My greatest creation so far. You haven't read any Nikki Heat yet."

"No." Her perfectly coloured lips curved, just a millimetre. "I suppose I'm not among the privileged few, Richard."

"Okay, now I _know_ you're pissed at me. Only my mother calls me Richard, and then only when I've done something really bad."

"Detective Stavich thinks you have."

"What about you?"

"You're my client. As far as I'm concerned they could have caught you red-handed, blood dripping from your fingers, and I'd still claim you were innocent."

"I am."

"Just keep telling yourself that." She didn't let him respond. "But if this goes badly I think you're probably going to have plenty of time to write a lot of sequels."

"That sounds ominous."

"It's meant to." She tapped the pad with her pen. "In addition to the knife and the datebook, they've apparently also found some short brown hairs, which they're having tested for DNA as we speak. Oh, and fingerprints. Lots of fingerprints."

"None of them mine," he asserted.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "This is a high profile case. Honor McAllister was well known, as are you. Did you really think they wouldn't put a rush on them?"

He felt a chill race up his spine. "What do you mean?"

"They found your fingerprints. On a glass paperweight, along with a little blood. They think it's possible it was used to stun Ms McAllister before the _coup de grace_."

The chill turned to a full-blown glacier. "A paperweight?"

"In the shape of the Earth."

"I didn't touch it. And there must be hundreds of the things around. Hell, I've got one myself somewhere. But I never touched that one."

"How can you be sure?"

"I'm sure!" He could feel anger beginning a slow burn in his belly, making his guts tighten. "Petra, someone's trying to frame me." He took a breath, trying to calm his rapidly ascending heart rate. "Where in my car?" he asked suddenly. "The jewellery and the laptop."

"Under the backseat."

"I haven't driven in over a week. I take cabs. I've even been known to take the subway. Someone put them there to frame me."

If anything her tiny smile got smaller. "Of course they did."

He'd had enough and thrust his chair back from the table, the rubber feet squealing. "Damn it, if you think I'm guilty why don't you just leave? I'm pretty sure there are a whole host of defence attorneys just itching to work this case, and at least I wouldn't get frostbite from them." He stood up and started to pace.

"Sit down."

He ignored her. "I may have been guilty of being stupid more than once in my life, but I didn't kill anyone, by accident or design." He ran his fingers abstractedly through his hair. "I wouldn't do that. Not ever."

"Not even to protect Alexis?"

Rick stopped, spinning on his heel to stare at her. "What?"

"You'd kill to protect your daughter, wouldn't you? Any father would. Or mother, for that matter."

In a moment he was standing over her, only the table between them, his fingers trying to gouge into the cheap plastic covering. "Petra, I'll say this once more. I never met Honor McAllister. I doubt I'd even recognise her if you showed me her photo. It's not like her body had that much of a face left. And I didn't kill her."

She looked up into his face, as if trying to see to the truth somewhere through the ways his eyes were set, the strength of his jaw, the mobile mouth … "All right." She thawed, enough to place her hand on his cheek, feeling the stubble starting to press through his skin. "I know. Now sit down."

"What?" Now he was really confused.

She smiled, properly this time. "Rick, I had to be sure."

"Had to be …" He almost collapsed back into the chair. "So all that … it was some kind of test?"

"It's what I do, Rick. And maybe, if you'd taken the time to follow me around instead of Detective Beckett, you'd have figured that out by now."

The air escaped him in a long, drawn-out sigh. "So you believe me."

"I always did. I know what you're capable of, remember?"

He shifted in the seat, slightly uncomfortable. "Petra, about that …"

"But that's a conversation for another time. Detective Stavich is going to want to interview you, probably for hours, but you just do what I tell you." She was back to business, even if the aura she was now projecting was warmer, more friendly, at least towards him. "Don't answer any question unless I say you can, and don't volunteer."

"I won't," he promised.

"I mean it, Rick. Like I said, I know you, and your tendency for your mouth to talk without your brain actually being aware of it."

"I said I won't. Only what you say I can." He made a cross on his chest with the index finger of his right hand. "If I'm lying, I'm dying."

"Too close for comfort," she murmured. "Then quickly, before they decide they've had enough of cooling their heels and come barging back in. Stavich isn't going to let you go, you know that. When they've finished, or as soon as I can arrange it, you'll be put into the cells tonight."

"It won't be the first time."

She ignored the interruption. "Then you'll be arraigned tomorrow morning. How are you going to plead?"

"Um, not guilty?" He almost laughed. "Seeing as I'm not. Guilty, that is."

Petra smiled again. "Good. That's what I like to hear." There was a slight pause. "Oh, and one other thing. Your daughter was at home when the police searched your apartment."

He felt his gut tighten and he looked towards the door, as if he could see her through it. "What? Is she okay?"

Petra held up a hand. "She's fine. I was there too, so you don't have to worry about her."

"You were there?" He looked surprised.

"I thought it best, in case I could deflect them in any way."

"And Alexis? Why was she home in the first place?"

"Something about a half day. We didn't have the chance to chat."

"No, of course." He sat back in the chair, feeling like most of the air had been knocked out of him. "Thanks, Petra. I mean it. Thanks."

"Any time, Rick." She stood up, her legs rubbing together like very expensive crickets, and moved in what can only be described as a glide to the door. Opening it, she wasn't surprised to see Detective Stavich lurking outside. "Listening in?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Of course not." Paul Stavich pushed past her, dragging one of the other chairs from against the wall and turning it around so that he could rest his arms on the back as he sat astride. "Okay, Castle. Why don't you save us all a lot of time and effort and tell me why you decided to kill Honor McAllister?"

---

Alexis must have been waiting just inside the door, because Kate had barely lifted her hand to knock before it was flung open and a fifteen year old girl threw herself into her arms.

"Kate! I'm so glad you're here!"

"It's okay. I'm here now. Everything's going to be fine." Kate held onto her, feeling the young body trembling. "Shh. I'm here now."

Eventually, and surprisingly quickly, Alexis was able to pull herself back together. "I'm sorry," she said, stepping away and wiping her cheeks. "I shouldn't be in this state. My Dad's done enough before to … I mean, I've had to bail him out and … so I should be able to cope but …" She stopped, taking a deep breath.

"But he's never been accused of murder before," Kate finished gently.

"Well, only of murdering the English language."

Kate smiled. "That's better. If we take this too seriously we're both going to end up basket cases." She nodded towards the apartment. "Are you going to let me in?"

"Oh, sorry!" Alexis stepped back, away from the door. "Come in."

"Thanks." Kate patted her arm on the way past.

As she closed the door, Alexis said, "Did you know one of his reviewers said he had single-handedly killed off the mystery novel by introducing graphic sex scenes?"

Kate had to laugh. "Reginald Dewis, in the New York Post, about a year ago."

"You really are a fan."

"Just don't tell your Dad."

"Oh, I think he has a pretty good idea."

Kate looked around the loft, at the mess. "I'm sorry you had to deal with this by yourself."

"I wasn't."

Kate turned in surprise. "I thought you said your grandmother –"

Alexis walked into the room, picking up some of the books strewn across the floor as she went. "No, I still haven't managed to get hold of her. It was Petra."

"Petra?"

"Petra Bentley."

Of course. That was the woman getting out of the limo, Kate realised. No wonder she looked familiar, even if her brain hadn't really registered the fact until now. There had been more than once occasion when she was just starting out her police career when she'd been cross-examined, most efficiently, over her handling of a case, and only the fact that she had always had an eye for detail meant the defendant had turned into the convicted. Not lately, though. Now Petra Bentley's reputation rested on some very high profile cases, all of which she'd won, against the odds.

"What was she doing here?" Kate asked.

"She came round to tell me what had happened, that she'd been retained to represent my Dad." Alexis glanced at the couch. "She made me sit down while she got some coffee, but … the other police officers … they came and she made them show her the warrant. Then they … they got on with it."

"I'm surprised she didn't make a fuss. They didn't really have enough to go on."

"Could anything they found be thrown out of court because of an illegal search?" Alexis wanted to know.

Kate shook her head, impressed but not surprised. Alexis was, after all, her father's daughter, and probably had a good working knowledge of how things worked on the legal side. "I doubt it," she had to respond, though. "But I'm glad you weren't here on your own."

"Oh, she left. They found something in the kitchen they were excited about, I looked around for Petra, but she'd gone."

If Kate was surprised she managed to hide it, but only through years of refining her interrogation techniques. "She left you on your own."

"It's all right," Alexis said quickly. "Once I'd got used to them …"

Kate hadn't exactly been a fan of the attorney before, but she found that rapidly descending towards active dislike, or worse. How dare she leave a fifteen year old to cope on her own with this sort of thing? Even if she had to hurry to Castle's side, that was no excuse for what she did. And Kate planned on telling her that, the first opportunity she had. "I'm sure they didn't mean to be scary."

"Then they need lessons in being less intimidating."

"I'll make a note." She smiled. "But don't worry. We'll work it out. Your Dad will be home soon enough."

"Oh, I know." Alexis nodded, her delicate features determined. "With you working on the case –"

Kate was saved from having to answer by the door bursting inwards. Her hand went involuntarily to the gun at her hip, but it was Martha, all indignant fluster and with a face the colour of her hair. She immediately went to her granddaughter, hugging her tightly.

"Darling! I was on my way home when I finally picked up your message. Are you all right?" She held Alexis away from her, checking her from head to toe. "They didn't hurt you, did they? Because if they did, there's a damn good personal injury lawyer who takes my empowerment class …"

"No, Gran," Alexis said quickly, blushing slightly at the attention. "They didn't hurt me. Just … made a mess." She indicated the room.

"We can put that right," Martha said, dismissing it in favour of pulling her only grandchild back against her. "Things aren't important – people are."

"Gran, I'm fine, honestly. And I need to breathe."

"Oh, sorry." Martha let go, but only enough so that she could look into the girl's face. "You're a strong one, kiddo. Like me."

"And Dad," Alexis added.

"That he is." Martha turned to Kate. "So is what I heard true? You've arrested Rick for the murder of that Honor McAllister?"

"Not me personally. But the police, yes."

"Why?"

"They think he did it."

"That's crazy. Rick may be many things, but a killer? Never." She looked around. "Where's the phone? I intend to give the Commissioner a piece of my mind."

"No, Martha. Not a good idea," Kate put in quickly. "We don't want you arrested as well for threatening behaviour."

"I suppose not." She didn't sound convinced.

Kate pushed the point home. "Considering that would leave Alexis alone here."

"Yes, fine." Martha waved the point away. "But I want to see him. See my son."

Kate shook her head. "They probably won't let you, not tonight." She glanced at the clock. "If Petra Bentley's done her job, he should be back in holding by now, otherwise they're probably still questionning him."

Pushing away memories of interrogations she'd seen on TV programmes, even a couple she'd been in, Martha fixed on the name. "Petra?"

"Castle's defence attorney."

"I remember her." Martha made a moue of distaste. "I suppose she's good at her job."

"One of the best," Kate stated, deciding it probably wasn't a good idea to bring up Petra's abandonment of Alexis, quite yet.

"Then why can't she get him released?" Martha wanted to know.

"There's too much evidence right now. But don't worry. We'll get this sorted out."

Alexis smiled. "Kate'll make sure of it," she put in.

This was it. The point at which she had to say, "I can't."

Alexis's already pale face lost more colour. "Why not?"

"Because I've been taken off the case." She hurried on quickly. "I'm too close, too ... he's my colleague, my partner. They'd never believe I could be impartial."

"But you don't believe he did it," Martha stated.

"No. I don't. Whatever else Castle is, he's no murderer."

"Why do you call him that?" Alexis asked, her eyes threatening to mist again.

"What?"

"Castle. His name's Rick."

Her Dad had been arrested, locked up, charged with a murder he didn't commit ... no wonder she was so very close to the edge. "I know, sweetie," Kate said softly. "It's habit, I suppose. I call Ryan and Esposito ... Ryan and Esposito," she finished, somewhat lamely.

"He calls you Katie."

"And we've had discussions about that."

"He does it on purpose," Alexis added, sniffing a little, her grandmother's arm securely around her shoulders. "To get a rise out of you."

"I know." Kate smiled slightly. "Believe me, I've called him worse. But I'll try and remember to call him Rick, okay? At least when I'm not mad at him."

"So, once in a blue moon, huh?" Martha put in.

"Maybe not as often as that ..."

Alexis giggled.

"Well, if I can't see him tonight, what about tomorrow?" Martha went on.

"I'll see what I can do. I might not be working this case, but I'm still a cop."

"Thank you," Alexis said, meaning every word.

"No problem."

Martha, apparently satisfied, took her first good look at the apartment. "God, did they have to empty every drawer?"

"They were probably a bit over zealous," Kate admitted.

The older woman bent down and picked up a red leather glove. "Although I have been looking everywhere for this."

"I think it was down the back of the sofa," Alexis said.

"Did they find my Chanel lipstick?"

"Not that ... I don't think so."

"Pity." Martha sighed. "It doesn't really matter. I bought another one and put it on Rick's account."

Her granddaughter nodded absently.

"Well, I'd better be getting out of your hair," Kate started to say, but stopped when Alexis looked up.

"Don't go," she said quickly. "Please. I don't want you to ... You'll … you'll stay, won't you?"

Kate studied the young girl, and understood entirely. No matter how strong she was, how used to coping with people like her father and grandmother, this had shaken her. Kate remembered the feeling that, no matter what happened, a home was sacrosanct, where you could pull up the drawbridge and keep the world out. It was a rude awakening to realise the world could still get in if it had a warrant. She smiled warmly. "Of course I'll stay."

Alex laughed in relief, glancing from Kate to Martha and back. "Thanks."

"No problem. Okay, well then, let's get this place back into some semblance of order," Kate said, her innate sense of tidiness thoroughly offended by the way Serious Crimes had left the loft.

"Good idea," Martha agreed. "You girls start in here, I'll see what they've done to the study." She hurried through into the other room.

Kate shook her head as she squatted down to pick up a handful of magazines. "Girls?"

"She still thinks of Dad as a five year old," Alexis explained. "So I'm not all that surprised."

"Yes, but with your father it's understandable."

Alexis grinned.

Martha wasn't tidying, though. Ignoring the books strewn across the floor, the forlorn spot where Rick's own laptop had been, now only recognisable by the cables pulled haphazardly from its spine, the lamps lying forlornly on their sides, she crossed to the desk, picking up the phone and speed-dialling '2'. She tilted her head to look out into the living area, but Kate and Alexis were busy, and she was pleased to see her granddaughter laughing at something the detective had said.

It took ten rings, maybe a dozen. "Rick?" the voice on the other end asked.

"No, Maggie, it's me, Martha." She dropped her voice so the others wouldn't hear. "I've got some bad news …"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

You might think I have taken liberties with the quote from **Storm Fall** and Derrick Storm's demise, considering the reading Rick gives at the end of the episode **Hell Hath No Fury**. I, on the other hand, prefer to think that his quote came from much earlier in the book and tells of the death of Perdita Boston's father/lover/brother/son (delete as applicable), and that she blames Storm for it. I mean, would any self-respecting author honestly read the very final paragraph of the book at a signing? It should also be noted that it doesn't actually mention Storm by name at all … So, as this is my story, and I needed it for plot development, I'm sticking to it! Jane


	8. Chapter 8

It was a dream. He knew this.

It wasn't the first so-called lucid dream he'd had, although they tended to be the result of too much rich food before going to bed. Mostly they consisted of him walking naked down Broadway, and finding himself face to face with a giant billboard of his mother, clutching her Tony award. That was usually the point at which he knew he was dreaming, as the closest she'd ever come to a Tony was a nomination (or so she claimed), and he was able to turn the horror around to much more pleasurable ends.

Not this time, though. Not being led out to face a firing squad.

He could feel the sand crunching under his feet, heat beating down on his head. His eyes squinted against the sun, and the ropes burned around his wrists. A guard was asking if he had any last requests. He tried to speak, to tell them they had it wrong, that he was a world-famous author and man about town, and they shouldn't be even considering killing him, but no sound came out of his mouth, and they took the silence as his answer.

They moved him back to stand against the wall.

He glanced down, saw the dirt was sticky and stained dark. He tried to complain, or maybe to scream, but the world dimmed as they dropped a bag over his head.

Suddenly everything was reduced to a feeling of claustrophobia, the guard's voice muffled, and only the sound of his own breathing loud in his ears. He could taste the old hemp in his mouth, dragged in as he started to pant, fear churning through his guts as the squad were told to aim, then fire …

Rick sat up, clutching at his chest, certain he would feel blood pumping from a dozen holes over his heart, but there was nothing but sweaty shirt in his hands. He looked around swiftly, but no-one was taking any notice of him. Perhaps they'd seen a man in the throes of nightmares all too often, and his was just another in the series. He put his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to calm the pounding behind his ribs.

Eventually he managed a smile. Trust him to have delusions of Zorro, going out and defending the good people against the bad, with a kiss and merry quip on the side. Sitting up straighter, he went to look at his watch before remembering they'd taken it off him when he went through the formal booking system. But there was a small window at the end of the corridor, and he could see daylight, so unless someone was playing around with the prisoners' delicate sensibilities, the night was finally over.

And it had been a long one. Despite being in a small cell to himself, there were no walls, only bars, and he could see into every other enclosed area. A biker was sleeping it off in one, his snores reverberating from the walls until someone yelled at him to shut up, and he just turned over under his studded leather jacket.

In another a woman made it perfectly clear she wasn't when he stood up to pee into the toilet in the corner, and further along two addicts in adjoining rooms were laughing at nothing in particular, and having a great time about it. Four other cells were also taken – it must have been a busy night.

A man had been brought in at some point during the wee small hours, and after a few minutes had taken off all his clothes. This had been mildly diverting to most of the inmates, who were yelling personal insults and even more personal suggestions, at least until the guards came and dragged the man out again, probably to send him to Bellevue. Rick just leaned against the wall and tried to look inconspicuous, keeping his head down amongst the usual detritus of the night.

The detritus of the night. He rather liked that. Maybe he should use it, have it one of Nikki Heat's musings as she walked the naked streets of her city, the one obstacle between Joe Public and a messy death.

If only he had a pen and paper.

Eventually it had become quiet again, and he managed to doze off, until he dreamed … _that_ dream. He shuddered and went back to his musings.

He'd once put Derrick Storm in jail, for a whole fortnight. On a trumped up charge, of course, pretty much like this, but he'd based the experience on anecdotal evidence, rather than empirical, and a brief but memorable stay in a sheriff's station in the Hamptons. It looked, though, as if he was going to get first hand experience this time.

Trying to get comfortable again on the hard bed, he idly wondered what Derrick would do in a situation like this. Bribe the guards? Dig a tunnel? Claim temporary insanity and insist on being taken to the infirmary?

Except Derrick Storm was dead. And fictional.

Better to rely on Kate. A real-life, red-blooded female detective. If he knew her, she was already on the case, trying to prove he was innocent.

Keys jangled. "Castle." A guard walked between the cells.

"Here." He popped up from the bed.

"Got a visitor for you."

---

"Darling, are you all right?" Martha hugged him, then pushed him away enough so she could look into his blue eyes, her hand on his cheek. "Has anyone made you their bitch yet?"

He laughed. "No. Not yet."

"Good. Make sure it's someone big who can take care of you."

"I'll try." He watched her run the hand that had touched him absently down her pants. "Yeah, sorry about that," he added. "The air-con seems to be out in holding."

"That's all right, dear. A little sweat isn't going to do me any harm. I used to be a wet mess coming off stage every night, remember?"

His mind skittered back to the dressing rooms, so many of them he couldn't count, but all smelling just the same – face powder, perfume and theatrical glue. With just the faintest hint of drains. "How could I forget? Despite the years of trying."

She waved off his comment. "You had a wonderful childhood," she said, then added quickly before he could argue, "Besides, I've brought someone to see you." She stepped to one side, like a magician's assistant introducing the main act.

"Mags!" He tried to pull her into an embrace, but a sharp rap on the window from the guard had him stepping back. "What are you doing here?" he asked, not even bothering to hide his delighted surprise.

Maggie Maguire smiled tiredly. "Martha called me. I came on the redeye."

"You look like crap."

At least that got a laugh. "Well, you know how I can't sleep on planes."

There was another tap on the window, and the guard pointed to the empty seats either side of the table.

"Fine, fine," Rick muttered, taking one of the chairs.

As they sat down, Maggie tilted her head slightly, studying him. "You don't exactly look that much better yourself. You'd give shit a run for its money."

Rick couldn't help smiling. "That's what I love about you, Mags. You always know the right thing to say." He glanced at the window and lowered his voice. "How did you get in, anyway? I thought it was supposed to be close family members only."

"I told them she was your sister," Martha said, her stage whisper filling the small room. "And don't worry, Kate arranged it."

"I'll try and remember to thank her."

"I'll remind you."

Maggie hadn't taken her eyes off him. "Are you okay? I mean, really okay?"

"Apart from being arrested for murder?"

Her lips twitched, but only a little. "Apart from that."

"Then I'm peachy. Although do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have to pee in front of twenty strange men? And in one case, make that very strange indeed." He saw her eyes glaze, and added quickly, "Actually, scratch that. I remember the incident with you and the football team." He paused. "Of course, not that I have anything to be embarrassed about, in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't. And I know you don't." This time she smiled. "But don't men all pee together anyway?"

"That's not the same! I didn't feel like a slab of meat being eyed up ready for the barbecue."

"I'm sure you'd be tender."

His eyebrows raised, and he couldn't resist a smirk, even in these dire circumstances. "Well, I have to say I have a great rump steak."

"Just keep it covered." She tried to will away some of the anxiety she'd been feeling since Martha's initial phone call, adding, "We've brought you a change of clothes, by the way. And a razor. They're with the guards. You can't go into court looking like that." She nodded towards his sweat-stained shirt and rumpled pants.

"Maybe if I did they'd think I was just a vagrant and let me off," he suggested.

"More likely throw away the key."

"There is that." He couldn't help noticing the tiny lines around her eyes that spoke of more than just tiredness, but for once bit his tongue, preferring to go with the mundane. "What about your movie deal?"

"You think I care about that when you're in trouble?" She flashed sudden fire.

In all honesty the very idea that she'd drop everything and come running gave him a nice warm feeling, and it wasn't just the lack of air conditioning. What he said, though, was, "You're crazy."

"No, I'm not. Besides, that's what I pay my lawyers big bucks for. And talking of which, who's yours?"

"Petra Bentley."

Her eyebrows raised. "_The_ Petra? She of the long blonde hair and the …" She mimed an hourglass figure that was only a little exaggerated.

"The very same."

"Does Kate know about you and her?"

Rick managed to look bashful, quite an accomplishment considering his usual brashness. "Um, no. And you're not to tell her."

"Why, do you think she'd be jealous?"

"Mags, if I thought that I'd get you to skywrite it. I'm actually more concerned she'd think I'd lost what few marbles I had left."

"She'd be right."

Rick could see his mother nodding in agreement, but insisted, "Petra's good. If anyone can get me out of this, she can."

Maggie didn't look convinced.

Martha, on the other hand, said, "Of course she will. You're innocent."

He smiled. "I'm glad you have such faith in me."

"Darling, I'd like to think if you had the bad taste to kill someone, you'd make sure you didn't get caught."

"Thank you, Mom," he said warmly. "By the way, is she here? Kate?"

"No. But she'll meet us in the courtroom."

"Good. Because I've been thinking."

Maggie sighed. "Oh, no."

He looked at her. "What?"

"When you start thinking, I start worrying."

"Hey, at least you know where I'll be for the next forty years." An image of him spending the rest of his life living cheek by jowl with men called No-Nose Flanagan and Pretty-Boy Malone slid across his brain, and he had to suppress a tremor.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't joke about it. This is serious, Rick."

"I know. God, Mags, you think I don't?"

"Then don't make out like it's all a huge laugh."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"You always do it!" Her annoyance spilled over. "It doesn't matter what it is, you … you won't take things seriously!"

"Mags –"

"You're in jail, for heaven's sake!"

"I know!" He glanced at the guard, who was peering into the room, having heard raised voices. He tempered his tone. "Maggie, I know."

"Then why are you being like this?"

"Because I'm innocent!"

"That doesn't mean you won't get convicted!"

Martha looked between them, feeling the strain between these closest of friends. "Children, don't you think we should hold off on the recriminations for a while? Just until we get Rick home and you can beat him up in private?"

Rick nodded slowly, seeing the high colour tinting Maggie's cheeks in her otherwise pale skin. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"No." Maggie took a deep breath. "_I'm_ sorry. I shouldn't have … I wasn't …"

He tried a smile. "I have to believe I won't be sent to prison, Mags. Otherwise I'd be a gibbering wreck in the corner."

"And everyone knows that's my prerogative," Martha put in.

He ignored his mother, but wasn't sure what he wanted to say, so only a joke came out. Another one. "As it is, do you have any idea what will happen if I get sent to prison? How popular I'm likely to be?"

This time Maggie let him get away with it, aware she'd pushed perhaps a little too much. She blamed it on lack of sleep. And worry. Lots of worry. "Well, they don't exactly have much in the way of taste."

"That kind of popularity I can do without."

"They'd love you. Richard Castle, author."

"And man about town."

"What?"

"Never mind. But I'm not sure my fame would help."

"Of course it would," Martha said. "They'd all want to be your friend. To be in your next book. You'd be invited on all the chat shows, to give your personal insight into the New York penal system …" She looked into the distance. "I'd need a new dress. Perhaps two. And shoes …"

"I've not been convicted yet, Mother," Rick pointed out.

"Well, one has to plan these things."

Maggie shook her head, leaning forward, her hand reaching out to his on the table top. "Just ... hold on. Be sensible."

"Me?" He chuckled faintly, just a rumble in his chest. "When have I ever done that?"

"Exactly." She stood up, pushing her chair away with a squeal before going to stand in the corner, her head down, trying to compose herself.

"I'm not surprised Maggie's pissed off with you," Martha commented, straightening an elegant cuff. "So am I, in case you were wondering." She sighed dramatically. "The first of our family to end up in jail."

"Hardly the first. What about Great Uncle Jeremiah? And I seem to recall an incident in your sordid past. Something about skipping out on a hotel bill …"

"I didn't skip out. They said I'd burned the carpet. And it wasn't a hotel. The cockroaches got more floor space than I did."

"Whatever, I still say there's precedence."

The door opened, and the guard looked inside. "Time's up," he said, not unsympathetically. "Ladies, you need to leave. You'll be seeing him soon enough at the arraignment."

Martha nodded, standing quickly, her actress's persona dropping over her shoulders like a cloak. "Make sure you stand closer to the razor than usual," she advised. "Judges like people to be tidy."

"I'll see what I can do."

Maggie had turned back, her eyes suspiciously bright. "See you later, Rick," she said, then hurried out of the door.

Martha went to follow, but Rick grabbed his mother's arm, making her wait. "Keep an eye on Maggie, will you?" he said quietly.

"Of course."

"And thanks for not bringing Alexis. I don't want her seeing me … here …" He looked around the room. "It might come down to it that she spends a goodly portion of her adulthood visiting her old man in jail, but not until then."

"I told her she couldn't."

"Good."

"She went to school, though. I tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted."

"That's my girl." He paused a moment. "Did they scare her?"

Martha knew what he was talking about. "A little, I think, when they first started to search. But she's strong."

"I know. She's more like you than I care to consider sometimes."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was meant that way."

"Kate being there helped."

"What? When?"

"Alexis called her when she couldn't get hold of me, and she stayed. She slept over last night."

"Last …" A smile grew on his face, and mischief danced in his eyes. "So was she there when Maggie arrived?"

"Yes. And you can wipe that grin off your face, too," his mother chastised. "It was all very civilised."

"Ooh, I would have paid good money to be a fly on the wall."

The guard coughed, then again, louder.

Martha swept out, taking a moment to pat him on the shoulder. "You really need to get that looked at," she said in passing.

---

The court fairly bustled. Arraignments were, by their nature, very quick. There was no presentation of evidence, no arguments, just a reading of the charges and a request for a plea. Most cases were dealt with in less than ten minutes, with potential defendants either remanded, released on bail or their own recognisance, or allowed to walk out, the prosecution failing to present any kind of case.

So quick, in fact, that Martha – sandwiched between Kate and Maggie – asked, "Is that it?"

"That's it," Kate confirmed.

"Only I thought there'd be evidence, witnesses."

"This isn't the trial. Not yet. More a hearing to determine if bail is going to be set, and how much." Kate watched as they took Castle back out of the courtroom. "And he was lucky."

"Oh, I know."

Petra had worked her magic on Judge Hollins, even as Martha was eyeing him up, because, as she said, "At my age, a girl can't let any chance slip away."

The defence attorney ignored the faint chatter behind her. "Your honour, my client is an upstanding member of the literary community. He has a daughter in school here, and strong ties to the city. His aged mother also lives with him, and he has been of considerable assistance to the New York City police department on numerous occasions. The prosecution's case is at best circumstantial, and with no prior convictions of this type I would ask that Mr Castle is released on his own recognisance."

"I get your point, counsellor." He looked at the prosecution bench. "Miss Armstrong. I take it you have objections?"

"In the strongest terms, your honour," Vivienne Armstrong, Assistant DA, said. She smoothed down the skirt of her navy suit. "The accused is wealthy, more than capable of flight, with or without his family. The case against him is far from circumstantial, unless Ms Bentley is referring to the fact that we didn't actually catch him with blood on his hands. The evidence speaks for itself, and we strongly recommend that he be remanded until trial."

Hollins glanced through the paperwork again, then looked up over his half-moon glasses. "I can see both points of view, but in this case I'm going to take it that, with the accused's … notoriety, it's going to be hard for him to run and not be recognised."

Petra preened. "Thank you, your honour."

"Having said that, bail is set at $350,000." Hollins held up a hand. "And before you complain, Miss Armstrong, Mr Castle is also to be fitted with an electronic tag so he doesn't leave his home."

With that Rick was led away back through the door, having said not a word, which in itself was something of a miracle.

"Where are they taking him?" Martha asked.

"Back to the pen. One of the cells at the back, until bail is posted," Kate expanded.

"Then that's my cue." Maggie got to her feet and hurried out, more than ready and willing to pay to get Rick released.

Petra sashayed up. "Detective." She smiled at Kate.

"Ms Bentley."

"It's not often I see you on this side of the aisle."

"I suppose it isn't."

The tall blonde then turned her attention to Martha. "Mrs Rodgers, please be assured I will do my best to make sure there is no miscarriage of justice."

"That's your job," Martha said shortly.

Kate's eyes narrowed. It was so rare for Martha to be rude to anyone, but to see it with Castle's lawyer made her wonder if there was anything else going on here. "Is there something I don't –" she began, but was interrupted by the ADA approaching and speaking to Petra.

"I'm prepared to hear anything you might say if your client would like to plead guilty to manslaughter," Vivienne Armstrong said, her short, jet black hair shining like a helmet.

"So would I, but since he's innocent, he won't be saying a word."

"Not a good idea. With the proof we have, I'd say he's looking at 25 to life."

Petra smiled coldly. "Then I'll see you in court."

"That you will." The ADA raised one eyebrow, nodded at Kate, then walked out, her heels clicking on the wooden floor.

Turning back to Martha, Petra said, "Don't worry. I'll make sure Rick is home before the hour's out." She turned and left the court.

"Come on," Kate said, taking Martha's arm. "There's nothing more we can do here." She glanced around at the business still going on, her mind filing faces and names away for future consideration, as it always did.

Martha nodded, and followed the detective out into the wide corridor. "Thanks," she said as they reached the relative quiet.

"For what?"

"Being here. Standing up for him."

Kate let her lips curve. "Martha, as much as that man gets on my nerves – and he'd be a trial to a saint – I don't think he did this."

"Of course he didn't." The older woman sighed, then dragged up a smile from somewhere. "And no matter what I think of Petra Bentley, if anyone can get him off, she can."

"Do I detect something between them?"

"Once." Martha shook her head, carefully forgetting the fact that her son had asked her not to say anything. "Before he met you. They had a thing for a few months, then Rick finished it."

"A thing? A serious thing, or a nothing thing?"

"Depends on who you talk to," Martha said enigmatically. "But that's not the point. She has to do her best, get Rick out from under this, otherwise …" She stopped, and swallowed, looking suddenly very pale.

"Martha?" Kate asked, concerned.

"This is so silly," Martha said, sniffing slightly and dabbing gently at the skin under her eyes.

Kate realised that, for all her brittle Broadway diva exterior, here was a mother sincerely worried about her son. "Come on," she said, putting her arm around the older woman's shoulders. "Let's go find Maggie."


	9. Chapter 9

By coincidence more than design, Kate parked her car at the side of the apartment building at the same time as an undistinguished brown Ford disgorged two police officers, a technician, and Rick.

"Darling," Martha said, hurrying to his side. "Are you all right?"

"You saw me a short while ago," Rick pointed out, hugging her with one arm, the other hand securely attached to one of the police officers by a metal cuff and a short length of chain.

"You might have fallen down the stairs."

He laughed. "I'm fine. Honestly."

"Well, I'm just glad they let you out."

"I think it was Petra calling you aged that did it," Rick said, letting the sun warm his skin. "I nearly burst out laughing."

"Probably a good thing you didn't," Kate commented. "Judge Hollins isn't known for his sense of humour."

"Really?" Martha raised her eyebrows. "I thought he looked quite nice."

"Down, Mother," Rick advised.

"And what's this?" She jiggled the chain and glared at the two cops. "Is this entirely necessary or are you into bondage?"

One of the officers, older, stocky and with receding greying hair, smiled a little. "It's department policy, ma'am."

"Well, he's home now. And don't call me ma'am. It makes me feel about eighty."

"No, ma'am."

"Harris, it's okay," Kate said. "I'll take responsibility."

"Okay." He fished out a small key from his pocket and undid the cuffs.

"Thanks," Rick said fervently, rubbing his wrist.

"No problem."

"And I promise not to make a run for it quite yet."

"I'd appreciate that."

A limousine drew up to the kerb, and Petra Bentley climbed elegantly from the back, her cream skirt riding up her thighs a little until she smoothed it down.

"Rick." She joined them.

"Making sure I didn't skip the country?" he asked.

"I'd be very unhappy if you did that."

"So would I," Maggie put in, standing slightly back. "I had to sign my life away."

"I'm good for it, you know that. But thanks," Rick said sincerely. "I'm grateful."

Petra moved between them. "You have to go inside, right now. And stay there." She laid a hand proprietorially onto his arm, and Martha bristled a little.

"On my way there right now. Just enjoying a lungful or two of free air."

"Nothing's free in this town, sweetie. Just you remember that. I'll be by in the morning to discuss your case, sort out what we're going to do about keeping you out of prison." Reaching up she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek then retreated to her car, the driver almost touching his forelock as she climbed inside, her impeccably-clad rear framed for a moment.

"Richard, really," Martha murmured, disappointment rife in her tone.

"What?"

"First the twinkie, then Gina ... do you have a death wish when it comes to women?"

He smirked at her as they headed for the back entrance.

---

As the elevator ascended towards the apartment, Kate sighed.

"What?" Rick asked, ignoring the two cops and the tech next to him.

"You know, I shouldn't be surprised you have a female attorney, but I am," she murmured.

"I don't _have_ her," Rick said. "I _pay_ her." There was a beat. "Okay, that came out wrong, but you know what I mean." He leaned a little closer. "Whatever I think about her she's damn good. The best at her job. And my agent has sorted out the requisite stipend."

"Gina?"

"She's my editor. Not my agent."

"There's a difference?"

"About 10 percent." He smiled at the expression on her face, then added, "I mean it. She's good. The best defence attorney in town. She's almost as famous as I am."

"Really."

"She's even got a MySpace page."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

Martha and Maggie exchanged a look, more than a little resigned.

"I'm thinking of getting one set up for Nikki Heat," Rick went on, stepping forward as the elevator doors opened. "X-rated, of course." He ducked out of the way as at least one of the women went to hit him.

As they headed down the hallway, the door to their apartment flew open, and Alexis rushed out. "Dad!" She ran into his arms.

"Alexis?" He looked over his shoulder at his mother, who just shrugged. He dropped his head to look into her eyes. "I thought you were at school."

"I wanted to see you – is that a crime?" she asked from somewhere deep in his chest.

"No," Rick admitted. He held her closer. "Are you going to keep doing this?" he asked, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Even when you're all grown up and ... well, more grown up than you are now?"

"Are you going to keep on being arrested?" Alexis countered, looking up into his face, her clear eyes bright with unshed tears.

"I'll do my best not to."

"Then I'll keep doing it." She sniffed loudly.

He grinned. "Deal." Ignoring the others, he led her back into the apartment. "So why _aren't _you in school? Dynamite doesn't usually work to get you to take a day off."

"Reporters."

"What?"

"The school was full of reporters, and they thought I'd be better ..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked at him accusingly. "You haven't seen the papers?"

"I've been otherwise engaged."

As the door closed with everyone inside, Alexis disengaged herself from him, and hurried to the breakfast counter. "Look."

It was the Daily News, a large photo of Rick front and centre, with the words _**Castle's Kingdom Crashes Down?**_ in large black type above.

"Catchy," he muttered, picking up the paper and scanning the article quickly.

"That's not the only one," Alexis went on.

Martha, Kate and Maggie crowded behind him, trying to read over his shoulder as he said, "Looks like your colleague gave a press conference."

"Who, Stavich?" Kate grabbed the paper from him, walking away with it. "That arrogant, self-absorbed ..."

"Isn't that what you call me?"

She shook her head. "He had no right. It wasn't up to him."

"I like the way he makes it sound like they've already convicted me and thrown away the key."

"You need to show this to Petra." Kate dropped the paper on the table as if it was something disgusting. "An article like this could prejudice your case."

"It could get thrown out of court?" Martha asked hopefully.

"No," Maggie put in quickly. "More likely they'd just move the trial to another district. Or bus new jurors in."

"Oh."

"These reporters … they were harassing you?" Rick wanted to know, looking into his daughter's eyes.

"They tried to, but Miss Hubbard sent them away. She arranged for someone to drive me home, and ... Dad, she told me not to come in for a few days."

"And you're not going. I'm not having them chasing you like this." He looked around at the two police officers who'd come up with them. "Can't you do something about them? Make them leave my daughter alone?"

Harris shook his head. "Not our province, sorry. You could get a court order, but the press are pretty bad at respecting them."

"I suppose not."

"Look, I hate to interrupt this family reunion, but ..." The cop indicated the technician who was standing quietly against the wall, trying to look inconspicuous.

"Oh. Right." Rick glanced around. "Where do you want me?"

"If you just sit down." The technician moved forward, his box of tricks at his side. "Shoe and sock off, please."

"Right." Rick lowered himself into the armchair, toeing off the articles of clothing and watching as the technician took something resembling a thick rubber bracelet from his case.

"What are they doing?" Alexis wanted to know.

"Your father's being lo-jacked," Martha explained.

Rick looked up from where he had been studying the proceedings. "I'm _your_ son when you want something, but Alexis's father when I'm in trouble."

"Of course, sweetie. That's what being a mother is all about."

"I guess I know who my friends are." He jerked slightly. "Hey, that's cold."

"Sorry." The technician fiddled for a moment then tightened the lock. "Is that okay?"

"Well, I can still feel my toes."

"Great." He stood up. "There's a GPS chip inside, with its own power source. I've switched it on, so if you move from this building we'll know, and you'll be arrested. Same if you try and remove it."

"You mean it doesn't blow my foot off?"

The technician cracked a smile. "We haven't gotten around to fitting them with explosives. Not yet."

"Good. That would just ruin my day."

"Mine too," Martha put in. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get blood out of a carpet?"

"Ignore her," Rick advised. "I try to."

The technician packed up his bag. "You can bathe, shower, whatever, in it – it's totally waterproof."

"Probably put something of a cramp into my love life, though."

"That, I'm glad to say, is nothing to do with me." The tech walked to the door.

The cop who had spoken before hitched up his pants. "Good luck, Mr Castle," he said. "I think you're going to need it." He looked at Kate. "Beckett."

"Harris."

The officers left, taking their tame technician, and Rick stared at the tag around his right ankle.

"It's going to chafe," he commented.

"Don't even try and take it off," Kate warned.

He managed to look affronted. "As if I would."

"As if you wouldn't."

"And no calling someone else to come and do it for you," Maggie added.

"You mean someone like Rico?" He laughed. "Remember that time when you –"

She cut him off with a glare. "I remember."

"They _will_ throw you back in jail," Kate added. "And you really wouldn't like Rikers."

"I know. And I won't try and remove. It just feels … odd." He pulled his sock back on and slipped his foot into his shoe.

"It's not a fashion accessory."

"I'm sure I could make it one." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Of course, it wouldn't be around someone's ankle …"

She glared at him.

"Dad …" Alexis complained.

"Sorry, pumpkin."

Kate's phone rang, and she walked quickly away to answer in private.

"So now what?" Martha asked, going to the bar and making herself a martini.

"Isn't it a little early for one of those?" Rick asked.

"Do you think I slept last night? Knowing you were locked up with all kinds of ne'er do wells?" She splashed a tiny amount of olive brine from the jar into the glass to make it dirty, then took a sip. "I'm surprised I can stand up."

"A few more and you won't be."

She turned, and he just knew she was going to quote at him. "_'Live each season as it passes: breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each_.'"

"Thoreau. I'm impressed."

"You should be."

They smiled at each other as Kate came back. "That was Harris."

"Who?" Rick asked.

"One of the cops who was just here. He says there's a pack of reporters down at the front desk, and they're not leaving."

He hurried to the window, trying to see out. "Damn it, why can't they be more sensitive?"

"You're a big story, Castle." Kate tapped the newspaper. "These kind of things happen to people like you."

"People like me?"

"Famous people." She moved closer. "You've fallen off your pedestal, and they all want a piece of you."

"Pushed. I was pushed off."

"Whatever. But you're the new Elvis, until something else comes along and your photo is used to wrap pork chops."

For a moment she thought he'd taken offence, then a grin cracked his serious expression. "Kate, you really have to carry on with that book. You've got a turn of phrase I admire."

"Oh, please." She turned away in semi-disgust.

"But as enjoyable as this is, it still doesn't get rid of the reporters downstairs."

"I can call the precinct, get them to send some uniforms down to clear them, but that will only work for a while," Kate said.

The phone rang, and without thinking Maggie picked it up. "Yes? What? No. No. I told you, nobody has any comment." She put it down.

"Reporter?" Rick asked.

"From the Times."

"I've had them on and off all morning," Alexis admitted.

It rang again. This time Kate took it. "What? No. And don't call again or I'll get an injunction against you." She hung up and looked at Rick.

"Fine." He walked to the wall and unplugged the unit. "That'll stop them."

"Until they get your cellphone number," Maggie pointed out. "And it doesn't get the ones at the front out from under our feet."

"I don't care about them." He lifted his foot. "It's not like I'm going anywhere." His gaze travelled to his mother and daughter. "You two, on the other hand …"

Alexis exchanged a glance with Martha, then turned back to her father. "I hope you're not thinking what I think you're thinking."

"I probably am."

"Dad …" She shook her head. "I can help. _We_ can help. You know how you like to bounce ideas off us, and –"

"Alexis."

She stopped, blinking hard, trying not to cry with frustration, even though she knew this time she wasn't going to get around him. "Dad …"

He turned and put his hands on her shoulders. "Kiddo, just this once, let me be the grown-up, okay? I want you someplace safe, where they won't upset you."

She had to try again. "Dad, they wouldn't –"

"Alexis. Humour me." He pulled her into his embrace.

"So where to?" Maggie asked. "A hotel?"

"They'd still find out. Reporters are tricky little bastards that way." Rick's forehead crinkled. "I could send them to Meredith, but I'd rather put Alexis into the lion's cage at the zoo."

Kate stirred. "I have an idea." She dialled quickly on the cellphone she still held in her hand. After a moment the other end picked up.

"_Hello?"_

"Lanie?"

"_Kate, hi."_ There was the faintest of pauses. _"Are you supposed to be talking to me?"_

"It's not that kind of conversation."

"_So not cop to ME."_

"Not unless you have something new you want to tell me."

"_Not at the moment. And you know I couldn't tell you I found some hairs that don't match either Honor McAllister or your man on the victim's clothes."_

Kate smiled. "Oh, I know you couldn't tell me that. Nor could I tell you to rush through the DNA."

"_And if you did, my answer wouldn't be that Stavich wasn't interested."_

For a moment Kate's smile froze, mentally thinking of all the ways she could kill that man and not leave a trace behind. "I can't tell you what to do."

"_Honey, you don't need to. I know my job."_

The smile warmed through again. "That you do."

"_So if this isn't work-related, what is it?"_

"I need to ask a favour."

"_Ask away. As long as it's not illegal, the answer's probably going to be yes."_

"Castle's daughter needs a place to stay. The apartment is being besieged by reporters, and –"

"_That would be Alexis?"_

"Yes. And her grandmother, Martha."

"_No problem, sugar."_ Kate could imagine the ME's smile. _"But I've only got the one spare bed. What about you?"_

"I'll find somewhere. Or go home."

"_The air con fixed at your place yet?"_

"Not so far."

"_Then I'd say you should stay with your man."_

"He's not my man," Kate hissed, lowering her voice.

"_You know what I mean. And take advantage of the situation."_

"Lanie ..."

"_I have to go. I've got a hot body on the table, and he's only getting riper. You've got your key?"_

"Yes."

"_Then tell them I'll see them this evening."_

"I will. And thanks, Lanie."

"_No problem."_

The line disconnected, and Kate turned back, seeing four faces all looking expectantly at her. "Sorted," she said.

"You tell me what Lanie likes in the way of booze or flowers, and she's going to have the biggest gift basket she's ever seen," Rick said fervently and with gratitude.

"Dad ..." Alexis began again, but her father held up a hand.

"Better go pack," he said quietly. "It's only going to be for a few days, until Kate gets all this sorted out."

"What about my school work?"

"Do it online," Rick said, more forceful than Kate had seen before. "You've got your laptop. Or use mine if –"

"They took it," Martha put in. "When they searched the place."

For a second, an expression of fury crossed Rick's face. "They would have." Then his jaw dropped. "Wait a minute, that's got the chapters and all the notes on Heat Wave on it!" He turned to Kate. "If any of that turns up on the internet, I'm going to sue the Police Department."

"They wouldn't do that."

"No?"

Alexis interrupted. "Dad, I don't want to go anywhere else. I need to be here. With you."

He shook his head. "No, Alexis. Do this for me. Just this one time."

"But –"

"Alexis. Please."

She gazed at him, seeing the need in his blue eyes, the set of his jaw. "Okay, Dad," she said, giving in. "But if you need me, you have to call."

"I will." He smiled and dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. "Now go get packed." He glanced at his mother. "You too."

Martha couldn't stop the grin. "You know, getting arrested seems to have been good for you," she remarked, heading up the stairs. "Maybe you're finally growing up."

"I doubt it," he said. "Wait 'til this is over. I'm going to be back to being my immature, selfish, brash, arrogant self."

Martha sighed. "I suppose leopards really can't change their spots." She vanished.

Alexis looked back at her father. "Are you sure you're going to be all right?" she asked.

"I'll be fine," he assured her. "I've got two strong women to look after me. How can I be anything less?"

"I remember the last time you tried that," she pointed out. "And look how that turned out."

"I don't think there's going to be any fighting this time." He looked up at Kate and Maggie. "Is there?"

"Not from me," his oldest friend said, turning to Kate. "How about you?"

"I'm a cop. I don't brawl in public." Kate smiled at Alexis. "Honestly," she added.

"Well ..."

Maggie stepped forward and wrapped her arm around the girl's shoulders. "Come on," she said. "I'll help you pack."

Kate waited until the pair had disappeared before saying, "I'd better go. I really have to get back to work."

"My mother said you'd been put on leave."

"I … have."

He grinned. "Oh, that kind of leave?"

"What kind is that?"

"The kind where you try and find out who framed me?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Or maybe it's the kind where I leave you to stew in your own juices."

"Ooh." His lips curved. "More than one juice?"

She sighed. "How can you make everything sound sordid?"

"Practice." He chuckled. "Once you drop off the girls, you might as well come back. You know we're going to have a council of war."

"Really."

"Yes, really. And I heard enough of your side of the conversation to know that you need a place to stay. You slept here last night, just do it again. I hate changing the sheets."

"It could be classed as a conflict of interests."

"Katie, you're not on my case. You are most definitely _off _my case. So I'm suggesting this as a friend."

For a moment she couldn't help but admire the sincerity in his tone, the warmth in his sky eyes, then she reminded herself that he was all too good at getting what he wanted in just this fashion. "Don't call me Katie."

He flashed a grin. "You'd better pick up some of your stuff, though," he said, turning towards the kitchen area. "I don't mind lending you a toothbrush, but I draw the line at offering you my underwear."

"I'll get it on the way back," Kate responded, then mentally kicked herself for agreeing to stay at the loft.

Rick, his back to her, busied himself with making coffee, but the grin on his face was wider than ever. "Great."

Kate glanced down at the paper on the table. "So, were you actually ever going to tell me about you and Petra Bentley?" she asked.

He paused in the act of pouring coffee beans into the grinder. "She was nothing. Just a fling. Barely warmed the bed."

"I get the feeling she doesn't think of it the same way." She heard Rick say something, but it was lost in the sound of the coffee grinder. "What?"

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Huh?"

She raised her voice. "I didn't hear what you said."

Switching the machine off, he turned to look at her. "I said, maybe Petra was thinking of white picket fences, a large dog and 2.4 children. I wasn't."

"That's why you ended it?"

"I went on to bigger and better things."

"If that was how you saw it, no wonder Petra's annoyed. I'm surprised you didn't go the whole hog and date the Assistant DA." When Rick didn't answer, she stared at him. "Tell me you didn't."

For a man who had never been backwards about his exploits, Rick looked remarkably reticent. "Perhaps." He sighed. "Okay. Look. There might have been a particular time, a little while ago, when I possibly had a thing for lawyers."

"Possibly had?"

"I was like a hurricane through the Justice Department," he admitted, his hand sweeping through the air.

"Leaving pain and destruction in your wake."

"Well, I hope not too much. Most of my little _affaires du Coeur_ end okay. We stay friends."

"And Petra Bentley?"

"Friends. Acquaintances," he amended.

"What?"

"I just … it's nothing." He shrugged. "Maybe she's the exception that proves the rule." Turning back to the counter he poured the ground coffee into the machine and switched it on.

"You know, that's a ridiculous phrase. How can something be proved because it's not entirely true?"

"Not that kind of proof. In this case it means 'tested'."

"And don't do that in front of the judge."

He glanced at her. "What?"

"Correct him. Or anyone else. They don't like it."

"I wasn't correcting. I was –"

"Castle."

"Okay. Fine. Just leave my nose alone. It comes in for a fair amount of torture as it is. Much more and it'll spoil my handsome profile."

"Then don't annoy me."

"I'll try." Whether it was to try not to annoy or the exact opposite wasn't clear, and he didn't elaborate as his stomach growled. He looked down at it, then back up at her. "I'm hungry. I need food. Do you want something?"

"No, thanks. I'll just wander."

"Snoop, you mean."

"Take note of my surroundings," she corrected him, entirely ignoring her own advice of only a few seconds before. "It's what a cop does."

"Like I said, snoop." He grinned. "It's okay. I do it too. Anywhere that looks interesting, I itch to open drawers, look in cupboards. Find out what makes a person tick. It's all grist to the writer's mill."

"I hope you're not comparing me to yourself."

He covered his nose with one hand. "As if I would," he replied, slightly muffled.

She raised one eyebrow and continued with her 'taking note'.

Kate had been in the apartment before, several times, but usually for a reason. Poker, pick-ups and arguing seemed to cover most of it, but there hadn't been too much opportunity to take a look around. Except for the night before, when they'd been tidying up after the search, and even then she hadn't had much of a chance to ... okay, snoop. As Rick went through his cupboards trying to find something he wanted to snack on, she wandered towards his study, idly reading the titles on the books lining the walls, before ending up at his desk.

They used to say that you could tell everything you ever needed to know about a woman by looking in her handbag. Who _they_ were was a matter of conjecture, but they should have said you could tell a man by the state of his office. Martha might have straightened it up, put things back in their places, but those things themselves were screaming out to Kate. The sailboat by the window, a kite perched up on top of one of the bookcases, swords and walking sticks in a large brass urn behind the desk ... this was a man with eclectic tastes, and the money to indulge them.

For a brief moment she wondered what he had been like before the success, before the women baring their breasts for him to sign, before all of ... this. Maybe he was just ordinary, a man looking for something fulfilling to do, to make sense of his life. Or maybe he was always a big kid, being dragged from theatre to theatre by a mother who loved him deeply, but needed to chase her own dream.

Maybe she should ask Maggie. She and Rick had been friends for almost half their lives, and if anyone knew what he'd been like, it would be her. Not that she really wanted to know, of course. She was just curious.

Kate's eye was caught by a sheaf of printing, stuck haphazardly under a small bronze statue of Mercury, complete down to the tiny wings on his heels. Tilting her head, she began to read. Becoming more engrossed, she moved the statue and picked up the papers.

Rick watched her from the doorway, something of a smug look on his face. He knew she couldn't just sit, that the inherently prying nature of all cops would get the better of her. He coughed, and she glanced up. "You know, in the early days of printing, or so I've been told, publishers used to hang the first run sheets outside their premises so they could get free proof-reading from the general populace."

"Really?" Kate said, reading another paragraph or two.

He crossed the room to her. "I'm not them," he said, flicking the pages out of her fingers and putting them securely in the desk drawer.

"I want to see what you're writing about me."

"It's not about you, it's about Nikki Heat."

"Then how come what you've got there is something I would say? Or have said?"

"Purely … coincidental."

"Right. That's the kind of coincidence that means you don't have to follow me around anymore."

"That's not fair."

"So I can tell Captain Montgomery that you're finished with your muse?" She stood with one hip thrust out, her hand resting lightly on it, an amused expression on her face.

"Kate, you know how to wound. But you're still not reading the pages." He grinned. "I will get you an advance copy, though."

"Thanks," she said witheringly.

"Although this is probably something of a moot point," he added. "Seeing as I might be spending the rest of my life dressed in a fetching orange jumpsuit." He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Are you okay?" she asked, not wanting to sound too concerned.

"Headache," he said, then smiled at her. "I didn't exactly get much sleep last night either." He turned away from her and walked back towards the kitchen and the perfume of freshly brewing coffee.

She followed him, noting with one part of her mind that he appeared to have gone with a bowl of wheat puffs drowned in half a gallon of milk, the spoon lying forgotten on the counter top.

He reached into a kitchen cupboard, lifting out a small white plastic container, then did the same with the fridge, this time coming up with a bottle of water. Undoing the container he tipped three … no, four tablets into the palm of his hand, tossing them into his mouth.

"Stop right there," she ordered, taking the water from him before he could complete the manoeuvre. "Spit." She held her hand under his mouth.

"Whu?"

"Spit."

He let the tablets fall out into her palm. Quickly tossing two away into the sink, she slapped the others back into his astonished mouth. "Two, Castle. Two's the dose."

"I have a headache," he insisted indistinctly.

"I don't care." She undid the top of the water bottle and handed it back. "You're not going to get yourself an addiction on top of everything else."

"You're as bad as my mother," he said, swallowing painfully then washing the taste away. "Won't pop Tylenol, but will drink me under the table. And has," he added.

"Is someone taking my name in vain?" Martha asked, coming down the stairs with a large suitcase in her hands.

Rick hurried to take it from her. "Are you trying to kill yourself? And you're only going for a few days."

"I didn't know what to take."

"So you packed everything." He humped it down the last of the steps. "What have you got in here, all your makeup?"

She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "Don't be absurd. It wouldn't all fit."

Alexis was next, Maggie close behind her. Unlike her grandmother, she was only carrying a hold-all and a backpack.

"Ready?" her father asked.

"No."

He smiled and hugged her again. "You'll be fine. And I'm sure Lanie will regale you with stories of dead bodies to send you to sleep."

"That's you, Dad. Not me."

He chuckled. "Got your phone?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Money?"

"Yes, Dad."

"If you need anything, just order it and put it on my account, okay?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Miss me?"

"Yes, Dad." She held him tighter. "I wish –"

"No. It'll be fine." He closed his eyes for a moment. "And when you get back, we'll have a party, with balloons and cake and ice cream."

"Will you dress up as a rabbit for me?"

He smiled, remembering that birthday, her sixth. "Whatever you want, pumpkin."

She let go, composed again. "Then that's fine."

"I'll get my car and bring it around the back," Kate said, taking her keys from her pocket.

"And I'll distract them," Maggie added.

"What were you planning on saying?" Rick asked her, waiting for the lump that had unaccountably appeared in his chest to melt.

"Oh, the usual. That you're innocent, that your lawyer is working hard to prove it, and we're looking forward to your day in court." Maggie laughed lightly. "Don't worry. I won't say anything defamatory."

"That would be a first."

"Oh, ha, ha." She strode out through the front door.

"I'll call you this evening," Alexis promised. "Don't do anything crazy, like trying to take the tag off."

Rick's jaw dropped. "You're as bad as Kate."

"Promise, Dad."

He crossed his heart and held up two fingers. "Scouts honour."

She didn't look like she believed him, but reached up, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Talk to you later," she whispered before following Maggie outside.

"Try and get some rest while I'm gone," Kate said, then realised she sounded like a wife.

"Yes, dear," Rick said, the smirk firmly back in place.

She shook her head and walked out.

Martha gazed indulgently at her son. "How you ever came to have two such good friends, I'll never know," she said, adjusting his collar slightly.

"I must have done something right in a former life," he suggested.

"Just do something right in this one," she advised. "I don't think I could live with having a convict for a son." She swept out, the wheels on her suitcase squeaking slightly.

Rick sighed, then murmured, "Me neither, Mother. Me neither."


	10. Chapter 10

"I feel like a spider in his web," Rick mused. "Or maybe a wise guy." He pushed out his belly and puffed up his cheeks, his chin lifting. "I got an offer you can't refuse," he said, in a creditable impression of Don Corleone.

Maggie sighed. "Stick with the writing," she advised.

"And as long as you don't look on us as the flies," Kate added.

"Tasty." He grinned.

The three of them were sitting in the living room of his loft, two open bottles of red wine on the table, one of them finished. It had been Rick's idea to get out the St Emilion.

"Mags, you're still on LA time, you're exhausted _and_ hyped up on coffee." He'd nodded towards the mug clasped in her hand. "There's no way you're going to sleep unless you wind down."

She'd glanced at the label, raised an eyebrow at the quality, but allowed him to open and pour.

Kate didn't know a great deal about wine, and what she did she had learned from her mother, who had taste if not necessarily the cash to indulge, but even she recognised the class as it almost melted on her tongue, slipping down her throat like nectar. She made a mental note not to drink more than a glass or two – it would be far too easy to get drunk without realising.

She looked at the red liquid, watching how the light seemed to make it glow, and thought back over the day.

After dropping Martha and Alexis off at Lanie's place, she'd stopped by her apartment on the way back to pick up a couple of things, unfortunately meeting up with the supervisor of her building.

"Sorry, Ms Beckett," he'd said, scratching his head. "The repair man said it needs parts, and as everyone's pretty much in the same situation, he's not that confident it's gonna get fixed before next week, Monday tops."

Kate hadn't sighed. In fact, she'd made a point of definitely not sighing, so the air escaping from between her lips must have simply been her breathing out. "Fine," she'd said. "I'm spending a couple of days with a … with a colleague, so it won't affect me that much."

The supervisor had looked disappointed, and Kate had the overwhelming impression that he'd looked forward to her running around the building in a skimpy, sweaty, see-through top and short shorts. That was followed by an almost overwhelming urge to get out her gun and threaten him, something she had to squash ruthlessly before she squashed him.

By the time she parked back at Castle's apartment she'd managed to marshal her temper somewhat, and wiping the sweat from her top lip she walked to the corner of the building, peering around. She'd been right – uniforms had been sent to clear the reporters, but they were back, clustered around the main doors. She smiled. At least they were looking suitably limp and trying to catch the smallest bit of shade to protect them from the sun.

Ducking back before they saw her, and possibly let Stavich know she wasn't keeping as far away from Castle as she had been told, she headed for the back entrance, something the reporters so far had apparently failed to notice.

As she was about to go inside out of the heat, a cab pulled up and Maggie Maguire climbed out.

"Been busy?" she asked.

Maggie handed a couple of bills to the driver and turned around. "I've been making a few calls. Seeing a couple of people."

"About Castle?"

"Mmn."

"Get anywhere?"

Maggie glared at her, then laughed, surprising the other woman. "Oddly enough, no. If it was personal, nobody's talking, and if it was a hit, nobody knows." There was just a trace of bitterness in her voice.

"That's the fun of police work," Kate said as they made their way inside. "Often it's only the negatives that give you the shape of the positive."

"That's almost poetic."

"Only almost."

"Oh, yes." Maggie pushed a hand through her short, almost-black hair. "You know, this whole thing is going to drive me insane."

"I doubt you're the only one."

They got into the elevator. "Oh, I know," Maggie went on. "Rick might be making jokes, being Rick, but it's affecting him. I can see it in his eyes."

"Those little lines at the corners."

Maggie nodded, not surprised that the other woman would notice. "Yes."

"Then we have to do what we can."

"I thought you weren't on the case."

"I'm on leave. And that isn't the same thing at all."

"No." Maggie began to smile. "No, it isn't."

And now here they were, sitting in comfort and enjoying the second bottle.

"I just can't seem to get my head around it," Rick said, picking up his glass again. "Something … itches."

Kate looked up. "Itches?"

Rick nodded. "Something someone said, or did … it's like an itch I can't scratch, not knowing what it is."

"Something to do with the proof they've got against you?" Maggie asked.

"Maybe." He looked disgusted with himself for not being able to pull the pieces together. "But that pisses me off, I know that. How the hell did the perp get my stuff?"

"Maybe they went through your trash," she suggested.

"It's possible," Kate agreed. "If someone was planning on framing you, and the murder wasn't a spur of the moment thing …"

He turned to look at her, an odd look on his face. "You think that? It was all planned?"

"I don't see it working any other way. Not really. Someone put your details into her datebook, but that could have been done at any time. But your hair, fingerprints …" She got up to pace, something he'd noticed right from the start of their relationship. Sometimes, when she was trying to see the whole, to see the wood beyond the trees, she had to move, to walk. Or maybe go shoot at targets down on the firing range. "For anyone to get those they'd have to be very lucky. Or very clever."

"Or they know you," Maggie put in.

"What?" Both of the others looked at her, but it was Rick who spoke first. "Know me?"

"Oh, I agree with Kate about the datebook. Anyone with any kind of IT knowledge could have put your name into her calendar and backdated the entry, and I guess maybe the hair might have come from the trash – I mean, Alexis and Martha are redheads, so it wouldn't be difficult to tell. But to know which one was your car, to be able to get inside to plant the laptop and jewellery –"

"And the knife," Kate interrupted, glancing towards the kitchen. "With Honor McAllister's blood around the base of the blade."

"To plant that someone had to get into the loft," Maggie finished.

"Is that possible?" Kate looked at Rick.

He shrugged. "About as possible as breaking into my car and me not noticing. I guess. But this is a secure building, doorman, cameras … it would be difficult."

"But not impossible, not if you really wanted to." She made a mental note to get someone to check the recordings.

"No," he conceded unhappily. "You know, maybe I should reconsider installing that panic room."

"Are you missing anything?" Maggie asked. "Anything else, I mean?"

"Other than what?" He laughed, but there was no humour in it. "I didn't know anything had gone in the first place, so how would I know?"

Kate sat down again. "Can you look? Search?"

"Katie, you might not have noticed, but this isn't a minimalist home." He gestured to include the entire apartment. "I buy things. And it's not just me, but my mother, and Alexis too. If we ever have to move it's going to take the National Guard and a whole fleet of trucks to do it." He sat back, resting the lo-jacked ankle on his other knee. "Besides, things get thrown out by accident. And as far as I know the trash isn't locked up."

"That's true." Maggie yawned, hiding it behind the words, "I've seen stuff of yours on e-bay before."

"You do searches for me?" His amusement fairly oozed off him.

She turned a very delicate shade of pink that clashed monumentally with her green eyes. "I … might." She lashed back. "Besides, I know you Google yourself every few days."

"Only so I know what people are saying about me."

"Nothing good, I'm sure."

"I wouldn't know, seeing as I'm currently without my computer."

"I've got mine in my case if you feel the urge."

Rick smiled at her, and for a moment Kate felt excluded, missing from all the years they'd been friends.

"As much as this is fun, it isn't exactly getting us anywhere," the detective put in.

"No, I suppose not." Rick stretched his back out. "But I'm still not exactly clear on what we should do next."

"What we have been." Kate sipped her wine, surprised when she realised it was the last mouthful. "Keep trying to figure out who did it, and get Paul Stavich to see the error of his ways."

"Is that going to be easy?" Maggie wanted to know.

"Not particularly."

"But is that it? Just prove reasonable doubt?"

"In theory."

Maggie moved to the edge of her seat, staring. "What the hell do you mean?"

"If we don't find the real culprit, Castle's going to have this hanging over his head forever."

"Hey, I'm still here," Rick insisted. "And I don't mind it hanging over my head rather than have it me being hanged."

"And what about Alexis?" Kate countered. "Do you want her to have to live with the fact that people think her father is a murderer? Because it will be brought up, every so often. Maybe a year will go by, perhaps two, and you'll think it's gone away, then you'll put out another book, and there it is again, large as life and twice as ugly."

There was silence for a moment, then Rick nodded, albeit reluctantly. "You're right. I wish you weren't, but you're right." He gulped the rest of his glass, wanting only to feel the warmth in his belly.

"We'll work it out," Maggie promised.

"Sure." He didn't sound convinced. "That's all we have to …" His voice trailed off. "Hang on. _Coup de grace_."

"What?" Maggie glanced at Kate, who shrugged.

"Petra used the phrase. When she was talking about the paperweight having been used to stun Honor before delivering the _coup de grace_."

"And your point?" Kate asked.

"I was just wondering … how many people knew Honor was dying?"

"I don't understand."

He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "Maybe … I don't know, Katie. But I can't help feeling it's important."

She opened her mouth to tell him, once again, not to call her Katie, but this time she held back. For now, just while this was all going on, she was going to cut him some slack. "Did Petra know?"

"About Honor?"

"Mmn."

Rick shrugged. "Do you want me to ask her?"

"Yes."

"No problem. Now?"

"Please."

"Okay." He walked into his study to phone from there.

Maggie picked up the bottle of wine and tipped it over her glass, but only a thin dribble emerged. "Another dead one," she muttered, putting it back on the table. "I'll get some more." She stood up and walked, with barely a moment of instability, towards the kitchen.

Kate shook her head. "No. I've had enough, and I don't think I'll need any help sleeping."

"I will." Maggie perused the bottles in the rack by the fridge, then slid one out. "This will do." She struggled a little with the bottle opener, but eventually she grinned and turned back. "Success." Sitting back down she filled her glass almost to the brim.

"So?" Kate asked as Rick came back into the room.

"Petra said she'd never met Honor MacAllister, so why would she know she was terminal?" He dropped back into the chair, reaching down to scratch at the electronic tag around his ankle.

"Stop that," Maggie admonished. "You'll make it sore."

"It itches."

"I'm sure there's some cream we can use …" She went to get up again, but he stopped her.

"Mags, I'm fine." He grinned at her, and Kate was surprised to see such an amount of warmth in his eyes. "Stop trying to mother hen me."

"Why?" Maggie gulped another mouthful of wine. "Someone has to. You don't exactly do a good job of looking after yourself."

He raised one eyebrow. "How much of this have you had?" He picked up the third bottle and was unable to hide the wince as he realised it was one of the more expensive in his collection, setting him back several hundred dollars, but at least two of the women in his life did seem to be bonding over it.

Maggie held out her glass. "More, please."

He chuckled, deep in his throat, and poured her another helping. "Kate?"

"No, I'm fine."

He studied her, the carefully applied make-up just a little smudged, as if she'd rubbed her eyes recently, and her hair was slightly mussed. "You know, I think you should. It's pretty good, and good wine deserves to be drunk with good friends."

Kate stared at him, knowing the haze of alcohol was making him seem a lot more gentle than usual, but not _not_ liking the effect. "Fine," she said, giving in and shrugging. "But just a taste."

They talked around the subject for a while longer, then Rick sighed. "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry." He pointed at Maggie. "And you're going to be useless to anyone in the morning if you don't have something to eat."

As if to emphasise his point, her stomach rumbled, very loudly.

Rick laughed.

---

By the time chilli, rice and another bottle of red wine – chosen by Rick this time – had been consumed with evident enjoyment, they'd talked themselves out. Indeed, as he served the food he'd decreed they wouldn't discuss his case any more, and conversation had warmed mostly to the two women taking pot shots at him. He didn't mind, enjoying the fact that both Kate and Maggie had loosened up, and to see them laughing, even at his expense, made him feel like maybe things weren't as bad as they appeared.

At a natural pause, he stood up. "Okay, I need a shower."

"That interesting perfume is you, is it?" Maggie joked, hiccupped, then laughed.

"Probably." He stretched again, this time feeling the joints popping all down his back. "_Eau de jail_. It's the new in thing."

"I don't think it will sell."

"Me neither."

"I'll clear," Kate said, stacking the plates and getting to her feet.

"No, leave them. Tomorrow will be good enough." He chuckled. "It's not like I'll be going anywhere."

She ignored him, carrying them to the kitchen and putting them onto the counter. He followed, the empty chilli bowl in his hands.

"Dishwasher?" Kate asked.

He pointed. "Down there. But I meant it. Leave everything."

"No, I –"

"Kate." The tone in his voice had her looking up in surprise. "I know you like things to be neat, but sometimes they're not."

"Castle …"

"Just keep an eye on her."

Kate glanced back at Maggie, still sitting at the table staring into her glass. "Why? I mean, I know she's been knocking them back, but –"

"Because she's sometimes not as strong as she thinks she is. Sometimes I'm not the one who needs looking after."

Yet again Kate was struck by the hidden depths in the man in front of her. No matter how often he insisted there was nothing beyond what he showed, the brashness, the immaturity that manifested as downright childishness on occasion, there were flashes of sensitivity, of … this. And even the quick burn of jealousy that she stamped on didn't change things. "No problem," she murmured.

He nodded in thanks and headed up the stairs.

---

Twenty minutes later and he felt more human, and more than a little surprised that he hadn't been shocked into insensibility by the tag around his ankle, but apparently the technician had been right about it being waterproof. He towelled off and slipped into a pair of soft cotton pants and a large, washed-out blue t-shirt. It occurred to him that maybe this was a bit too relaxed, and added a tartan cotton robe over the top. At least his air conditioning was working fine, so he wasn't going to get too warm.

Heading for the stairs, he became aware of voices, and realised Kate and Maggie were talking about him. He smirked slightly, moving closer, quiet on bare feet, wondering whether he should be eavesdropping like this, but lowered himself to the top step nevertheless, just low enough that he could see through into the living area. Not that they were likely to take much notice of him, not with the conversation they were having.

Maggie was speaking, the pair of them having decanted from the table to the easy chairs. "Kate, this is us. Not a cop and a writer, just two women having a drink and chatting about a mutual friend. Do you think he's guilty?"

"Maggie –"

"Rick, a man who prides himself on the minutiae of police procedure, leaving incriminating evidence in his own kitchen, for God's sake. Do you think he's that stupidly arrogant?"

"Which question do you want me to answer first?"

Maggie closed her eyes briefly, and when she reopened them they were unnaturally shiny. "Either."

"Then, in the order you asked ... No, I don't think he's guilty. And no, I don't think he's stupidly arrogant. And yes, before you ask. I do think he's being framed. I never claimed anything else."

"Good." Maggie emphasised her point by waving her wine glass, and not noticing some of it spill over her hand and onto the rug.

Rick winced, mentally making a note to get the soda water out first opportunity.

"So do you want to sleep with him?" Maggie asked.

Rick cringed even more than over the wine. _Has to be the alcohol talking_, he told himself. _Maggie wouldn't do this otherwise._ He listened for more.

Kate shook her head. "He's my partner."

"So?"

"You don't … there are unwritten rules …"

"Maybe they're unwritten because they're crap." Maggie noticed her hand was wet, and licked the wine from her skin.

"Relationships between colleagues make things difficult. Especially if I have to tell someone to do something they don't like, and I'm sleeping with them."

"You tell him to do things he doesn't like all the time."

"But I'm not sleeping with him."

"Do you want to?"

"No."

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Maggie murmured, but added in a louder tone, "But I know what it is. You think when things go wrong, they go wrong worser."

"Worser?"

"It's a word." Maggie looked defensive.

"Whatever, yes. I do think it makes things …worser."

"Like you and Sorenson."

Kate stared at her, her jaw dropped. "He … he told you?"

"Kate, we talk about everything."

_Uh oh._ Rick's inner voice was now kicking him in the backside. _Just pray Katie doesn't remember anything about this in the morning_, it was saying. _Else you're going to end up bruised. Again._

"Do _you_ want to sleep with him?" Kate countered.

"Already did."

"Oh, yes, that's right."

"A long time ago."

"And now?"

Maggie laid her head on the back of the sofa. "So maybe in the darkness of a sleepless night, maybe I do fantasise a little. Is that wrong?"

"No. Tell anyone this, and I'll deny it, but … maybe I do it myself."

"About Rick?"

"That, Ms Maguire, is something you're never going to know."

Maggie chortled. "Yeah. Right." She turned her head enough so she could look at Kate. "You know," she said, blinking to focus better. "Shall I tell you something funny?"

"Sure." Kate took another mouthful of wine and feeling it slip down her throat so smoothly it was like heaven on her tongue. She chastised herself for the simile, and decided she'd been spending way too long in Castle's company. "Go on."

"What?"

"You were going to tell me something funny."

"Right." Maggie sat up a little straighter. "Did you know that, for all the time Rick was with Meredith, he was faithful? I mean, she was the one slept with her director. Rick didn't." She played back the last sentence in her mind. "I mean, he didn't sleep with anyone else."

"Really? I thought –"

"'Xactly," Maggie interrupted, winking and tapping her nose at the same time. "Everyone thinks that. But he didn't. Doesn't."

Kate was beginning to realise Maggie was attempting, in a roundabout way, to tell her something. "Then why does he have this reputation for being a womaniser?"

"That was Meredith's fault. She made him. Changed him." Maggie's face took on a sad, serious air. "I think it was the last time – the only time – he let someone break his heart." She sniffed. "He built a wall up around it then, and won't let anyone in. Martha and Alexis, they have a kind of day pass, but nobody else gets close."

"Not even you?"

"Okay, maybe I get an annual visit." She shook her head again. "But he's too good a man to waste."

"Are you trying to sell him to me?" Kate asked, somewhat suspiciously.

"No. I'm just pointing out that, while he has his faults, which are many and varied, he has a good side too."

"Oddly enough, I'm aware of that."

"I'm just saying …" She paused for a moment. "If you're attracted to him, he's a good guy underneath. A little immature, but then so are most men."

In an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, Kate asked, "What about Gina?"

"Faithful." Maggie sighed, the sound seeming to come from the depths of her red leather sandals. "Even to her."

"Why did they get married?" As soon as the words were out there, Kate wished she'd never asked, and wondered if maybe Maggie wasn't the only one to have had too much to drink.

But the other woman just sniggered. "No idea. There must have been some reason, like maybe they thought it was a good idea at the time. Or maybe they were drunk."

"You mean like you are?"

"I'm not drunk." Maggie would have drawn herself up, but she was too comfortable immersed in the softness of the armchair. "I am … pleasantly mellow."

"I'd hate to be your eyeballs tomorrow morning."

There was a pause, then another laugh. "You know? Me too."

"For that matter, me three," Kate added, chuckling herself. "I think I've had way too much."

"Nice, though, isn't it? That's my Ricky," Maggie said, draining the last in her glass. "Always has the good stuff."

After that there was a long silence, in which Rick, his affection for the two women who were now slightly the worse for wear outdoing his embarrassment, walked quietly down the stairs, saying not a word. He just made them strong, black coffee and put them to bed.

---

If the sunlight seemed a little strong, Kate put it down to sleeping in a strange bed. Certainly not the amount of alcohol she and Maggie had put away the night before. At least the noise of the playground a little way off was muted, with only the occasional hooting of a car in the dull background noise of New York driving a stake into her forehead.

Esposito lowered himself slowly onto the bench next to her, carefully not making eye contact. "You look like something the cat crapped on," he said quietly, barely moving his lips.

"Thanks."

"And I mean that in the nicest possible way."

She glared at him over the top of her dark glasses, then pushed them back up her nose. "How's it going?"

"You know I can't tell you."

"And I'm not asking. In fact, here's me, sitting here in the sunshine, not asking."

He looked around, watching the children on the swings for a moment. "Stavich thinks he has it nailed."

"I saw the papers."

"Yeah, he got his knuckles rapped for that, but he doesn't care."

"Is he looking for anyone else?"

"No. The knife, the paperweight, the hairs, the letter … he's convinced."

Kate's antennae pricked up. "What letter?"

"It was in the waste basket, screwed up. It's in Castle's handwriting, threatening McAllister if she didn't stop."

"Stop what?"

"It doesn't say."

"Is it addressed to her directly?"

"No."

Kate felt frustrated, like she had been not only blindfolded but made to wear mittens, trying to work her way out of a maze. "I need to see it."

"I can't."

"I know."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Beckett –"

"It's okay."

"No, it isn't." He turned so he could face her, and damn anyone who might be watching. "This is crazy. We know Castle didn't do it, but Stavich won't listen to either Ryan or me."

"What about the laptop? The one found in Castle's car?"

"The hard drive was reformatted. Very professionally, too, according to the tech boys. They're still working on it, trying to salvage something, but they're not holding out much hope."

Kate's eyes narrowed. "Someone thought there was something on it. Something incriminating, maybe." She paused. "Dominic Stirling should be back from Europe today. Talk to him. See if he knows who she was planning to profile next."

Esposito nodded. "Anything else?"

"Ask him how many people knew Honor McAllister was dying."

"You think it might be relevant?"

"I think maybe." She shook her head, a rueful smile twisting her lips. "I don't know. At the moment, mostly I'm thinking that if this gets as far as actually going to trial, Castle had better get used to only seeing the sky during recreation periods."

"Just imagine years of prison coffee." Esposito shuddered.

"For Castle, that would be hell." She almost smiled. "Oh, and pick up the tapes from the security at his building. Someone planted that knife, and they might just have been caught on camera."

"You got it, boss."

"There's one more thing. I need a favour."

"Only the one?" He grinned. "What kind of favour?"

"I need you to arrange something for me."

---

Maggie stood at the newsvendor's and glared at the various papers. Alexis was right, Rick's arrest and commitment to trial was splashed over every single one of them. Stavich had done a good job, and there was barely one that even considered he might be innocent.

There was a saying about there being no such thing as bad publicity, but this was going too far.

Dropping the right change on to the stack, she picked up one of the papers and headed for the subway. Her entire morning had been wasted, and now she wanted to get back to Rick's, take a couple of painkillers and hide.

As she waited to cross the intersection, though, her cellphone rang, the sound cutting into her hangover like a chainsaw.

"What?" she asked fiercely when she managed to disentangle it from her purse.

"Maggie?"

"Kate?" She took the phone from her ear, stared at it, then put it back. "How did you get this number?"

"You gave it to me. Last night. Remember?"

"Not … no."

"In case of emergency, you said."

"And is this one of those? An emergency?"

"Not quite. But I thought maybe you'd like to take a little road trip with me."

"Is this where you take me out into the desert and leave me?"

"Maggie, this is New York. The nearest desert is several thousand miles away. Although if you really want I can take you to Queens and dump you there."

Maggie smiled. "Rather you didn't."

"I just thought you'd like to come see Ferdie MacAllister with me."

"_The_ Ferdie? Honor MacAllister's Ferdie?"

"The very same."

"What, are you missing Rick or something?"

"Or something." Kate's tone was so dry it make Maggie feel thirsty. "So … want to?"

There was barely a pause for thought. "Can you pick me up?"


	11. Chapter 11

The apartment felt ... odd. There'd been plenty of times he'd been here on his own, either working on his book, or – all too often – laying on the couch watching TV and eating potato chips. Or ice-cream. Or both, if the writer's block was really that bad. Mother would be out with her cronies, and Alexis would be at school. Except this was different. This was worse. He couldn't go out, couldn't just go to the park and walk it off ... Rick wasn't sure he could cope.

He had to do something. Anything. Get his brain working on the problem, turn that prodigious talent to solving his own case.

Kate was off talking to Esposito, Maggie had announced she was going to see some sources of her own, and neither woman looked like they should be doing more than going back to bed and pulling the covers over their heads.

He grinned. Served them right for drinking his booze. At least he'd steered them to the cheaper end of the market when they ate – no point in wasting a $400 bottle with chilli. It hadn't stopped either of them swearing at him this morning, though.

The dishwasher chimed, and he spent the next few minutes stacking plates and bowls back in the cupboards, but as soon as he'd finished the irritation washed back, full force.

_Okay. Enough_, he said to himself, heading purposefully into his study. Before she left Maggie had brought down her laptop for him, and he quickly plugged it into the big screen he used to plan out his books. Flexing his fingers, he spoke aloud. "Okay, Rick. You might not be Hercule Poirot, but it's time to get those little grey cells working." He started to type.

_Victim: Honor McAllister, aka Monique Hagan_

_Method: Stabbed in the back of the neck_

_Disposal: Dumped in her car in the East River_

The list continued, not only appearing on the computer, but on the screen as well, dead centre. A quick Google brought up a picture of Honor, which he slotted in at the top. He had to smile – his very own murder wall. Encouraged, he continued to work.

---

"I thought you said Ferdie McAllister was in Attica?" Maggie looked over at Kate as she drove, her eyes still half-closed due to the brightness dancing a fandango on her retinas. "Only if we're going on that length of a road trip, I need sustenance and some kind of liquid refreshment."

"Not to pee?"

"Well, now you come to mention it …"

Kate smiled. "As it happens, when Esposito spoke to someone in Correctional, apparently he'd been moved to Arthur Kill a few weeks ago, and someone neglected to update the records as fast as they should have."

"In which case the food can wait, but I still need water."

"And a bathroom?"

Maggie considered a moment, then shifted in the seat. "Yes."

Kate chuckled. "I need gas, so you'll have to take a chance at their restroom."

Knowing what some of them looked like, Maggie shuddered, and Kate laughed louder.

---

The sound of tapping filled the study, broken only by a slurping sound as Rick took a mouthful of cold coffee. Not that he noticed – he was far too engrossed in his work.

_Apartment searched – but _

He stopped. But what? Something had been niggling him about this for some time, and thinking back he realised what it was. The search was over the top. Whoever had done it had made a mess, but it was far more than was necessary. He almost laughed. _I bet Kate already figured that out_, he thought, shaking his head. _And she never mentioned it_. He made a mental note to castigate her severely, although he'd probably enjoy that way too much. And so might she, hopefully. He finished the line.

_Apartment searched – but more frenzied? Looking for something but didn't find it? Perhaps Honor knew her killer, and didn't expect any attack. And if she was stabbed in the back of the neck, even if stunned first, she had to have turned away from her killer. One body = look for motive. Two bodies = look for link. Three = serial killer. Technically two bodies – Honor and yours truly (glad to say I'm not dead, though), so who's the link between her and me?_

His front door bell rang.

---

"That's better." Maggie had all but downed a bottle of water in one gulp. "I needed that."

Kate smiled. "You'll need to pee again soon if you carry on like that."

"You do realise you're supposed to drink at least two litres of the stuff every day, don't you?" Maggie countered, struggling with the top to a bottle of aspirin. "Except I tried it once, and I had to go to the bathroom every twelve minutes."

A car pulled out in front of them and Kate stabbed on the horn, then winced. "When you finally get into those, can I have a couple?" she asked.

"Sure." With a savage twist, Maggie managed to get the top off the painkillers, half a dozen jumping from the bottle and landing on the floor of the car. "Oops. Sorry."

"Ignore them," Kate advised, holding out her hand.

Maggie shook a couple into her palm. "Two enough?"

Kate chuckled. "If I didn't know you were friends with Castle, I could guess. I had to stop him taking half a dozen yesterday." She swallowed them dry, grimacing only a little at the taste.

"From the days of our youth," Maggie explained. "I can't begin to tell you the number of times we woke up with screaming hangovers, wondering what the hell we'd done the night before, then wishing we couldn't remember."

"Funny how he hasn't changed."

"A bit. He has changed, a bit." She tossed two of the little white tablets into her own mouth, washing them down with the remains of the water.

"You mean because of Alexis."

"Mmn." Maggie didn't seem to want to continue that conversation, and maybe she was recalling the words they'd had the night before, and regretting some of them.

Kate understood, although it was all too easy to blame the alcohol. Still, maybe it was better to steer clear of that area for a while. Instead she asked, "So did your visits come to anything?"

Maggie shrugged, grateful for the change in subject. "Not really. About all I could get was that Honor McAllister knew a lot of things about a lot of people."

"How?"

Maggie looked at her sharply, then wished she hadn't as the headache pierced her skull again. "What?"

"How did she find out?"

"Perhaps it was ex-husband Ferdie."

"Maybe. We can always ask him." Kate glanced at her, making a leap from the expression on the other woman's face. "Except you don't think so."

"Well, my sources might not know who would frame Rick or why, but they all had a view on Honor."

Kate could feel a stirring in the pit of her belly. "Is this likely to get back to Stavich?"

"Unfortunately, probably not." Maggie laughed, then decided to remind herself not to do it again. "The people I've been talking to wouldn't be seen dead in the same city as him, let alone the same room."

"So what did they say? These sources of yours."

"The sources you denigrate and despise?"

"Yes. Them." Kate's face didn't change expression, although there were faint lines around her mouth like she was trying not to smile.

"Enter rumour, painted full of tongues." Maggie waited. "Shakespeare."

"I know." Kate sighed. "What is it about writers, are you all the same?"

"Absolutely. We're all pains."

"You know, I could arrest you for withholding evidence."

"Fine, fine." Maggie grinned. "Well, my _sources_ say that Honor McAllister was a stickler for the truth, so if she said you did something, she probably had the proof locked away in her little memory stick."

"What?"

"Memory stick. It's one of those things you put into a computer and –"

"I know what they are. But nobody's mentioned finding one." She tried to bring to mind the list of property recovered.

"They were certain. It was one of the really powerful ones. Apparently she'd had the cases made especially so she could swap them around to suit her mood."

"I'll let Esposito know to keep an eye out." Kate settled back into her seat, her mind working, and silence descended.

---

"Rick."

"Petra."

"You seem surprised to see me," the attorney said, sweeping into the apartment. "I'm not sure why. I said I'd call so we could discuss your case."

"I just thought you'd call first. I might have been busy." He closed the door, leaning on it a moment before following her. "And I'd love to know how come you weren't buzzed up."

She shrugged, dropping her purse onto the sofa but keeping hold of her briefcase. "I told your doorman not to worry. He seemed to be having enough difficulty with the paparazzi outside."

"Isn't there a train wreck or something they can go cover?" he asked grouchily.

"Apparently not." She wandered into his study. "You know, I always did like this room."

"Thanks."

"But what's this?" She crossed to the large screen, her hand raised as if about to touch it, but staying just a centimetre away. She read it carefully, then half-turned to look at him. "I hope you're not planning anything stupid, like trying to work out who's guilty."

"What else do I have to do?" He glanced down at his ankle. "It's not like I don't have all the time in the world. And you know I can't just sit here and do nothing."

"Yes, I remember. But you don't want to interfere in the police investigation. It might come back and bite you in that very pretty ass of yours."

"Why not?" Rick felt a flare of anger. "It's not as if they're looking for anyone else, is it? Stavich is so convinced of my guilt he's not even trying."

Her gaze was cool, and as calculating as ever. "Can you prove that?"

"Only if I'm convicted, and I don't think my family would be too pleased about that."

"Nor would any of us, Richard," Petra said, her eyes flicking back to the screen where the saver had kicked in, and photos were scrolling across, mostly of a younger Rick and Maggie. She nodded slowly, walking very deliberately away. "Very well. But I have to warn you, this could do more harm than good."

"Petra, I'm not going to compromise myself."

"Really?" She lowered herself into one of the brown leather chairs to the faint hiss of nylon, her knees locked together, ankles elegantly crossed. "There are some people who might think you already had."

"What are you talking about."

"Detective Beckett."

"She's helping me out," Rick said quickly, sitting down behind his desk. "That's all."

"I meant in a more ... intimate manner."

"I know what you meant, Petra. And she's my colleague. My friend."

"You do tend to sleep with your female friends, though, don't you, Richard?" She looked pointedly over to the pictures still slowing moving across the large screen, the one currently showing being of Rick and Maggie on a Ferris wheel, taken by him if the angle was anything to go by.

Rick sighed. "Look, if we're going to have one of _those_ conversations, I'd rather we didn't. My private life is just that – private."

She smiled slightly. "It's all right. There's no need to get quite so defensive. I was merely making an observation." She opened her briefcase. "But we do need to go over all the prosecution evidence. Although you do seem to have made a head start on that."

Rick relaxed a little. "Well, you know me, Petra. I used to be a boy scout." He paused. "Actually, I used to be a girl scout, but they asked me to leave."

"Somehow, Richard, I'm not all that surprised."

---

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Maggie asked as they waited for Ferdie McAllister to be brought up from his cell.

"You didn't have to come."

"And miss you working?"

"You sound like Castle."

"I'll take that as a compliment, even though you didn't mean it as one." Maggie grinned. "But why _do_ you call him Castle?"

"I …" Kate didn't really want to answer, to explain that it kept him at arm's length. She rarely called Esposito _Javier_, or Ryan _Kevin, _and they called her Beckett. Otherwise it made them too close, too open to vulnerability, and that was something she couldn't afford, not in a male-dominated world like the NYPD. She had to be seen to be tough, to be strong, otherwise she might be viewed as just playing at being a cop. And right now it was just easier to see Castle that way too. "There are reasons."

"I understand that. I wanted to know what they were."

Kate was saved from a potentially uncomfortable conversation by the door opening, and Ferdie McAllister being escorted in by two guards.

Neither woman was sure what they expected, but Ferdie McAllister didn't disappoint. He was tall, possibly taller than Rick, with thick, dark hair that was brushed back from a naturally high forehead. His eyes, a rich brown, had laughter lines at the corners, and the tilt to his lips made him look amused all the time. He seemed to keep himself in shape, too, at least from the hint of muscles under the prison clothes.

"How nice." Ferdie McAllister smiled. "Two such lovely women at this time of day. And me without my business cards."

"I'm Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD. This is Maggie Maguire."

"And police officers at that. I'm honoured." The slightly mocking tone in his voice was excusable, even as the guards undid his restraints and left the room.

Kate waited until he sat down, his fingers twitching as if he longed to adjust the cuffs of the handmade shirt he hadn't worn in four years. "Mr McAllister, there's something I have to tell you. It's about –"

He interrupted. "Honor?" His mobile lips curved a little. "We have TV, Detective. And the warden was kind enough to break the news." The mocking was stronger this time. "And Richard Castle is all over the press as her murderer, which makes me wonder why you're here."

"We're … still investigating."

"You think he's innocent?"

"That's what we're trying to find out."

"Hmmn. Interesting." He crossed one leg over the other. "You know, there are several inmates who can't wait for him to join us."

"Why would that be?"

"Because everything is grist to an author's mill, isn't it?" His words echoed Rick's own. "I don't doubt he'll be writing another bestseller if he ends up with us, and my fellow inmates are anticipating appearing in print." He smiled, putting Kate in mind of a snake about to strike. "Of course, there are one or two who have reasons of their own, Detective Beckett."

She ignored the jibe, even as she mentally acknowledged it wouldn't be the healthiest of environments for a man who had assisted the police like Castle had done. "You don't seem very upset by your ex-wife's death."

"Oh, I am."

"Then I'm sorry for your loss."

"Spoken like a true detective, with as little sincerity as possible. But it isn't my loss, not really. Not anymore. In fact, not for a long time." He shook his head. "Not since she divorced me."

"Why was that?" Maggie asked.

"The divorce?" He smiled again. "She had ambitions. To be a writer, to discover the truth behind the story." He shrugged. "I suppose a blackmailer for a husband wasn't the kind of baggage she needed. So Monique became Honor, and I became single again."

Kate spoke before Maggie could. "You must have hated her for that."

"Actually, no. The truth is, I'm sorry she's dead," Ferdie said, looking down at his hands. "Believe it or not, I still love her. Even now."

"You knew she was following in your footsteps and blackmailing people?"

He looked up, his eyes widening. "Blackmail?"

"Yes, Mr McAllister." Kate sat forward, her hands clasped lightly in front of her on the table. "Blackmail."

Ferdie studied her, then chuckled. "Very good technique," he commented. "Drop a bombshell and wait for my reaction. Did I pass?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you're admitting she learned everything she knew from you."

The chuckle became deeper, louder, and the two guards outside peered inside, Kate waving at them to let them know everything was okay. "I didn't say that," he said.

"Ferdie, I don't care about whether you were part of it or not. I just need to know what she was doing."

"And she's dead," Maggie put in. "Nothing's going to hurt her now."

"How very true." Ferdie looked from one to the other. "Off the record?"

"Not even in the ballpark," Kate confirmed.

"Then yes, Monique was my student. From the very first day we met, I knew she was someone I could teach, pass my skills on to. And we had a good time on it. We got away with … well, not murder, but a great deal of money, and never got caught. Then she took it into her head that she wanted to be a writer, to use her talents in another way."

"And you resented that?"

"No. I understood. In fact, I encouraged it. And she was good, working her way up. Then she got that job on The Herald and I thought it was going to be the making of her. But she just couldn't keep her finger out of the pie."

"She started blackmailing the people she was writing about," Maggie said quietly.

Ferdie nodded. "If you know where to look, it's easy enough to find hidden dirt on people. And Monique knew. She remembered all my old tricks. And the truth is, she was better at it than me. I made some mistakes, asked for too much." He glanced around, taking in the walls, the locks, the antiseptic smell that didn't quite hide the odour of nine hundred bodies in the same place. "That's why I'm here. But Monique didn't fall into that trap. She knew to go for a single amount, and leave it at that. Keep chasing, and you're that much more likely to force your mark against a brick wall, and then they might turn around and bite. So go for a sensible payday and don't get greedy."

"Do you know who she was blackmailing?"

Ferdie shook his head. "No. And I didn't ask, in case that was going to be your next question. Monique and me … we were too much alike in the end. That didn't stop me loving her, even when I let her divorce me."

"And the first job … how did she get that?" Maggie asked, her writer's nose twitching.

The man laughed again. "You're good," he said, admiringly. "And you're right. She tried writing a novel but it got turned down by every single publisher, so she … well, she used her talents otherwise. She found out something juicy about a potential employer, then … persuaded them to give her the job. She hadn't changed that much."

Kate stirred again. "When was the last time you saw her?"

"Monique? A little less than a month ago. She came to say goodbye."

"You knew she was dying."

"Yes." The smile had gone from his face, and the sadness was back. "She told me. The doctors had given her maybe six months, but she felt it was probably going to be sooner."

"Why didn't she want treatment?" Kate wanted to know.

"Dignity." He sighed deeply. "She could face almost everything, except losing that." He leaned forward. "I was actually waiting to hear that she'd killed herself. Taken an overdose or something. That would be my Monique, always in control."

---

As they walked back towards the car park, Maggie asked quietly, "Is it bad that the only person so far I've any sympathy for is Ferdie?"

Kate laughed softly. "You're meant to. It's how he works, getting what he wants from people by making them feel like he's their friend."

"So that was all a con?"

Kate considered. "Actually, no, I don't think so. He had nothing to gain from lying to us – we made no promises, and he wasn't going to get anything out of it. I think he really did love Honor, and he wants us to find out who killed her." She reached into her pocket for her car keys. "And Stavich didn't even think it was worth talking to him."

"But none of that was admissible in a court?"

"Not a word," Kate confirmed. "Technically I'm on leave, you're a civilian, he didn't have a lawyer present … But at least for our own benefit, I think it was worth it."

"No wonder Rick likes to follow you around," Maggie said, shaking her head and grinning. "You are great value."

---

They'd gone through the evidence, piece by piece, building a counter case that would hopefully prove Rick had no reason to kill Honor McAllister, nor the temperament to do so, and now Petra was taking her leave. Except she wasn't going anywhere at that precise moment.

They were at the door.

"Why did we break up, Rick?" Petra asked, standing as close as possible to him so that her perfume filled his nostrils.

"Circumstances," he said, looking down at her.

"Have they changed?"

"No."

"Pity." She sighed and ran her hand up his chest, resting it for a moment on his cheek. "But perhaps after I successfully defend you against these charges, we can try again."

"You think you will? Be successful."

"Of course. I'm the best, and I hardly ever lose."

"Hardly ever isn't quite the same as _never_ ever."

"But perfection would be boring, don't you think?" She smiled, lifting her head so she could place a kiss on his lips.

For a moment he responded, letting his hands hold her waist, his mouth opening. Then he pulled back. "Not good, Petra. Wouldn't this be compromising our professional relationship?"

She dismissed his objection with a raised eyebrow. "Then consider this on account." She pressed herself against him again, kissing him this time with more passion.

After a minute's tongue fencing, though, he pushed her back. "Haven't you got some work to be doing?" he asked, feeling stirrings in his body that he really needed to get control over.

Petra sighed again. "I suppose. But this is only a rain check." She licked her lips, savouring the taste of him. "I'll see you again soon," she promised, then walked out, her hips swaying.

He closed the door, and bolted it for good measure, letting out a sigh of his own. Too close. Way, way too close. He might have slept with Meredith, but she _was_ his ex-wife, so in a way that was to be expected. But he'd almost given in and taken Petra to bed too.

Exhaling with intent, he leaned back against the wall, mentally apologising to Kate and Maggie for the inherent weakness of all men. He couldn't imagine either of them falling for the charms of whatever the male equivalent of Petra Bentley was, and found he didn't want to even if he could.

He glanced at the bar, wondering if it was too early for a medicinal scotch, but decided it probably was. And he had work of his own to be getting on with. It wouldn't do for his ladies to get back and find he'd been wasting the day.

---

As Rick worked on his very own version of the murder wall, and two of the women in his life started back towards Manhattan, another man was in a small, one-room apartment across town, the thin curtains closed against the sunlight and heat, sweat already soaking the t-shirt he wore.

He was sitting on his bed, a thin metal tray next to him containing everything he needed to shoot up.

Tightening the rubber around his arm, he managed to find a vein amongst all the scar tissue, and slid the needle home. Pushing the plunger with fingers that only trembled a little, he forced the liquid into his arm, then released the band.

His pupils dilated almost immediately, and he sat back against the wall, the tinnitus beginning in his ears, church bells a long way off. It reminded him of his youth, growing up in a small town in Maine, when Sundays were full of people ringing the changes, and everyone in their best clothes. Of course, that was before he got into that bit of trouble, and left to make his fortune in the big city.

He could feel the world beginning to recede, and he smiled. In a few more minutes he was going to feel so good that nothing would matter any more. In fact, the only problem right now was that he felt so hot.

Standing up, the needle slipping from his arm and clattering unnoticed to the floor, he made his way out of his room and headed for the stairs to the roof. The effects were already starting to kick in, and he felt like his feet weren't even touching the treads as he drifted up. The door was unlocked, and in a moment he was outside, feeling a slight breeze cooling his skin, like pure water sluicing him down. He closed his eyes and span on his heels, around and around, arms outstretched, the euphoria making him careless.

Too close to the edge. One more spin and a step taken that he shouldn't have, and Marty Drexler plunged from the roof, laughing all the way to the concrete pavement eight stories below.


	12. Chapter 12

Rick was dreaming he was being watched. Sophisticated surveillance equipment was recording his every move, every twitch of his eyebrows, his words digitally broken down and examined. And someone was breathing, very close by.

As he struggled to wakefulness, he realised the surveillance might be just a figment of his imagination, but the breathing wasn't. Ungluing his eyelids, he lifted his head. There was a figure in the darkness.

"Jesus, Maggie!" he exclaimed, feeling his heart pounding as he switched on the light. "Are you trying to put me into cardiac arrest?"

She didn't answer, merely stood at the foot of the bed, staring at him.

"Maggie?"

Nothing, not even an indication that she knew he'd said her name.

Now he understood. As far as he was aware, it hadn't happened in years, but she was sleep-walking. The first time had been in college, just before mid-terms, when she was so concerned she was about to flunk out that she had studied enough for her brain to short circuit. He'd woken up in the apartment they shared to find the front door wide open, and she was standing out in the rain, oblivious and soaked through to the skin. Her eyes were wide open, just like now, but she didn't react when he took her back inside.

This time it was probably due to the somewhat unhealthy dose of being worried sick about him, and it made his guilt level rise. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, the lo-jack on his ankle making him feel clumsy, he grabbed his robe, shrugging into it and barely fastening the tie across the front.

"Come on," he said quietly, moving closer to her and gently taking her arm. "Time you went back to bed."

She let him move her, her body almost floating to his touch as he steered her out into the corridor and back to her room, settling her onto the pillow. Her eyes closed as he pulled the sheet up over the large t-shirt she'd worn to bed and she turned on her side, snuggling down.

He watched her for a few moments, then turned to leave the room, coming face to face with Kate.

"Shit," he breathed. "What is it with you women? Isn't my blood pressure high enough as it is?"

"I heard a noise."

"Yeah. Me."

She glanced beyond him towards the bed. "Is Maggie alright?"

Rick nodded. "She's fine. Just sleep-walking again." He chivvied her into the corridor.

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Does she do that a lot?"

"She's worried about me." He closed the door as quietly as possible. "Kinda makes me feel all warm inside."

"And that's why you're showing a lot more than necessary, is it?"

"What?"

Kate glanced down at his robe, lifting her eyes again immediately. "I know it's hot, Castle, but …"

He grabbed at the ties about to reveal his shortcomings and pulled them tighter. "If I want to sleep naked I can."

She backed up, her hands held in front of her. "Your apartment." She turned back towards her room.

He thought for a moment. "Kate, do you … want some milk?"

As she slowly faced him again, her eyebrows were raised. "Milk?"

"I don't think I'm going to get back to sleep easily. And sometimes, yes, milk helps. Warm milk. Probably from when I was a kid."

"That's very Oedipal. Were you breastfed?"

He grimaced. "That's sounds … all kinds of wrong. Coming from you."

She smiled slightly. "Sorry. But milk sounds good."

He grinned. "Good." With almost child-like glee he ran down the stairs into the kitchen, knowing she was following more slowly. It only took a minute to get out the carton, the saucepan, and by the time he found an open packet of cookies she was sitting on a stool at the counter. "This is nice," he commented, putting the milk on to heat. "Very … homely."

"Mmn." Kate suppressed a yawn.

"I'm sorry Maggie woke you up, though."

"She didn't. I think it was you."

"Sorry about that too."

She waved his apology away, resting her chin on her hand. "Not your fault."

He stared at the milk, deliberately not looking at her. "We've never really … _talked_ about Maggie, have we?"

Kate shrugged, even though he couldn't see. "She's your friend. I get that."

"She's more than that. She's family."

"That's nice." She winced inwardly at not being able to find another word.

This time he twisted enough to gaze at her. "See, the point is … you wouldn't credit it to look at me now, but there was a time I was a geek."

Kate's lips twitched. "You?"

"Me." He grinned at her. "High school, even at the start of my junior year at college, I was more into science fiction and comic books than girls."

"That I find hard to believe."

"It's true. My mother was starting to worry about me."

"She was probably waiting for her share of your genes to kick in."

"Probably. And they did, eventually, just after my first Christmas there. When I met Maggie."

The look on his face had Kate almost squirming on her stool. "Love at first sight?" she joked.

"Maybe." He went back to the milk. "But whatever it was I knew we were going to be close for the rest of our lives." He glanced at her. "She's my best friend."

She nodded, then shrugged, finally nodding again, telling herself to make up her mind. "Well, we all need at least one."

"Like you've got Lanie Parish."

"Exactly." She took one of the cookies from the pack and picked one of the chocolate chips from the edge. "You told Maggie about Will Sorenson."

He flinched at the slightly accusatory tone of her words. "We tell each other everything."

"That's what Maggie said."

"Besides, I'm sure Lanie knows all about my little foibles by now."

"And the not so little ones."

He chuckled, pouring the now warmed milk into two mugs and putting the pan in the sink before turning back. "I'll have you know my large foibles are sought after near and far."

"Too much information, Castle."

"But she won't get in the way."

Kate stirred. "Won't … what are you talking about?" she asked, although she had a pretty good idea.

"You and me, Kate. If we ever want to get beyond the cop/writer thing." He gazed at her, his blue eyes surprisingly clear, his hair still mussed from his bed, looking almost adorable.

"There is no beyond," she said, slipping from the stool, hardening her heart. "We're colleagues. Partners. Friends, even. But that's all."

"Is it?" He put his hand on hers.

"Yes." She moved away, rounding the edge of the counter to pick up one of the mugs. "Don't complicate things, Rick."

"They already are." He smiled – she'd used his first name.

"No. They're really simple. If we don't figure out who framed you, who Honor was blackmailing, you're not going to have to worry about any kind of relationship. Except perhaps with someone called Jack 'The Knife' Benini."

He fell back on humour, his catch-all safety net. "But will you still love me when I'm covered in prison tats?"

"I don't love you now."

"You're breaking my heart, Katie."

"Don't call me Katie," she said, pinching him before turning for the stairs.

He rubbed his side. "Don't you want cinnamon on your milk?" he asked in surprise.

"No. I like it just as it comes." She started up. "Goodnight, Castle."

"'Night." He watched until she disappeared, her bare feet not making a sound on the polished wood. He picked up his mug. "Well, you managed that really well," he said, apparently talking to the milk. "There's only one thing left to do." He headed for his study, his big screen TV, and his big, soft, comfy brown leather armchair. "Porn."

---

"Dr Parish." Ryan sauntered in, a smile for his favourite medical examiner. "Here." He held out a cardboard cup.

Lanie looked up from her desk. "For me?"

"My mother taught me to never to go visiting without taking a gift."

She laughed lightly, taking it from him and lifting the lid, inhaling aroma. "You're a credit to her."

"And …" From behind his back he brought out a Danish wrapped in a paper napkin. "Breakfast."

"And just what do you think you're gonna get in return, Detective Ryan?"

He grinned. "The reason you called. At this time of day."

She put the lid back on the coffee, settling it safely on her desk before standing up and taking the Danish. "Oh, I think you'll consider it worth getting up early for."

"Getting up early?" He followed her towards the business end of the morgue. "I've been up for hours. Stavich likes his people in before the sun."

"And you thought Kate was hard."

"Oh, no. Beckett's a pussycat compared to him."

She looked over her shoulder at him. "I'm going to tell her you said that."

He smirked. "I don't mind."

"Masochist." She led him through the plastic doors.

"So what _did_ you want to see me about? Apart from insulting me."

"Isn't that reason enough?"

"If Stavich wasn't riding my case, maybe."

"Well, you don't have to worry, sugar." She pulled a drawer open in the metal wall. "Meet Marty Drexler."

Ryan looked down, barely flinching at the state of the face. "Do I know him?"

"Wouldn't know."

"Then why am I –"

She held up a hand to silence him. "He's an OD from mid-town, who decided to take a leap into the sweet by and by, landing head first."

"That I noticed. But, again, why am I –"

"Hold your horses. I'm getting to the juicy part. For a start, there's the fact that his drug of choice was almost pure, and there's no way he had the cash to purchase it himself, even if he knew where. Even if he hadn't jumped, he'd have been dead within half an hour."

"So somebody didn't like him. But that doesn't explain –"

She still didn't let him finish. "Then there's this." She held out something in a small plastic evidence bag. "It was in his pocket."

Ryan took it from her, studied it. It was a tiny watch, probably hideously expensive seeing as it appeared to be gold with tiny diamonds all down one side of its square face. "Buy a lot of blow with that," he muttered.

"Except I thought it looked familiar." This time she handed him a clipboard with a printed list on it. "It's stolen property." She waited. "Well, aren't you going to ask me who it's stolen from?"

"I was thinking you'd probably tell me without me having to make a fool of myself." He ran his eye down the list.

"Honey, that wouldn't be hard." She smiled. "I thought it looked familiar last night, so I checked this morning." She tapped the page. "It's on the list of jewellery taken from Honor McAllister's apartment, from the insurance company records."

Ryan stood straighter. "Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. Her initials are on the back."

He turned the watch over. MH. "Of course. Monique Hagan." He looked up at the ME. "You get the reports?"

"Kate arranged for me to have copies once for a case. No-one's ever bothered to tell them to stop."

Ryan grinned. "I won't tell." He handed the clipboard back.

"Thanks. It can make for some interesting bedtime reading when I can't sleep."

"Lanie, you only had to ask. I'd've come round and helped you nod off." He tried one of Castle's 'come hither' looks, but wondered if he hadn't failed badly and just looked like he was leering.

She swiped at him with the board. "Bad boy."

Ryan held up the evidence bag, his grin still wide. "Anyway, thanks for this. I'll see what else I can dig up."

"You're welcome."

"I have to say, though, I'm surprised you didn't call Beckett first."

She fixed him with her dark eyes, her lips twitching ever so slightly. "Who said I didn't?"

---

"Marty Drexler? Never heard of him." Rick joined the two women at the table, the fresh pot of coffee in his hand. Neither he nor Kate had mentioned Maggie's nocturnal wanderings, since she didn't appear to remember anything, and it would probably embarrass her. He lifted the pot in enquiry, pouring when Maggie held out her mug.

Kate shook her head, putting her hand over her cup. "He was a lowlife addict with a history of petty violence."

"Who escalated suddenly into murder and mayhem?" Rick scoffed. "Come _on_."

"Castle, I'm not as stupid as you think."

"I never said –"

"But you think I'd fall for –"

"That's not –"

"Just because according to Lanie –"

"Kate, I didn't mean to –"

"It's too neat," Maggie interrupted. "Can we just agree on that?" They both looked at her, and she shrugged. "Before you two start fighting. That it's way, way too neat."

"You mean a junkie having a nice piece of bling on him and not pawning it?" Rick filled his own mug with coffee. "I'd say that was pretty obvious."

"Lanie said the insurance detailed it as worth around $5,000," Kate said thoughtfully. "Even a fence would have given him five hundred."

"Maybe he had the cash to buy what he needed," Rick suggested. "If we're thinking what I think we're thinking, he might have had a _lot_ of cash."

"Considering I'd hate to know what goes on in that head of yours, I'm not sure that what you're thinking is the same as what I'm thinking –" Kate began.

"Oh, you really don't want to know," Maggie murmured, but quietly enough to be ignored.

"But I wouldn't be surprised."

"He set me up," Rick said succinctly.

Kate shrugged. "Or he was set up. Either way, it's a speedbump in Stavich's case. But I need to see his sheet, see if he's capable of …" She stopped, realising her hands were in fists. She shook them out. "Damn it, this is so frustrating." She wanted to break something, anything to release some of the tension she was feeling, but the whole room was too nice to trash.

"You're just going to have to rely on Ryan and Esposito," Rick said, knowing exactly how she felt. "And you _can_ rely on them, you know that."

"I know. I just … I need to be out there. I need to be doing something." She stood up, starting to pace.

"You can always help me wash up if you like."

Maggie raised an eyebrow, but he smiled at her, shaking his head slightly.

Kate stopped moving. "You have a dishwasher."

"And I'm trying to save the environment," he said, gathering the used plates. "Alexis is very keen on reducing our carbon footprint."

"Do you even know what that is?"

"Hey, I watch CNN. Admittedly, often with the sound turned down, but that Heidi Collins is hot." He let a beat go by. "Kinda reminds me of you."

"Castle …"

"Come on. You wash, I'll dry."

"No, _I'll_ dry."

"Then I'll wash." He grinned. "It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it."

---

Ryan had collected Esposito on the way through the precinct towards the locker rooms, carefully keeping out of Stavich's way. They could see him in the rest area, staring at the espresso machine.

"I hope he doesn't break it," Esposito said quietly. "I doubt Castle'll spring for another."

"Especially if he's on death row," Ryan agreed. "Come on. If we're lucky, we'll catch Daguerro going off duty."

They were. The fifty-five year old uniformed officer, with more than just twenty years under his expanding waistline, looked up. "Yeah, that's right. Marty Drexler."

"So you caught the call?"

"Nah. It was an anonymous tip." Daguerro pulled his jacket from inside his locker, obviously not bothering to change. "Someone rang, claimed this guy was responsible for all the car break-ins down around the East Village, only when we got there he'd done one line too many and decided to see if he could fly." He shook his head. "Man, that was a mess."

"Did you search his place?" Esposito asked.

"Nope." He shrugged. "Well, we did take a quick look but … look, he was a well known junkie. We called it in and left." He shrugged. "We don't have time to be waiting around for CSU to turn up. Besides, he went off the roof, not his apartment."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Oh, yeah. We saw it happen." Daguerro chuckled, clearly not phased by seeing a man kill himself. "Just pulled up in the car, got out and some old lady started screaming. We looked up just in time for …" He mimed a body falling from a height onto the sidewalk. "Ruskin had to go change his shoes from the splash-landing."

"Man or woman?" Ryan wanted to know.

"Who?"

"The caller. The tip."

"No idea. I guess it's still on file."

"Thanks." Ryan slapped the man on the back then walked out of the locker room, his partner following at a slightly slower pace.

"Where do you think we're going?" Esposito asked.

"Where do you think? Come on."

Esposito glared at him. "You know Stavich isn't going to like this, don't you."

"Not sure I care."

"You might have nobody to go home to at the moment, but I've got a lady who likes to be taken out, and if I'm fired –"

"You won't be. And I have a girlfriend."

"How old's this one?"

"That's not the point. And we won't get fired."

"No, maybe not. But I don't like the idea of ending up directing traffic for the rest of my career."

Ryan grinned. "Lots of fresh air, plenty of exercise … what's not to like?"


	13. Chapter 13

The door to Marty Drexler's apartment was slightly ajar, and Kevin Ryan held up one hand to stop his partner, the other lifting the gun from its holster at his waist. "Hello?" he called, pushing the door further open.

"If you want to rob me, I wouldn't bother," came a distinctive male voice.

"Chevy?" Ryan glanced at his partner and walked inside, not taking anything for granted and keeping his gun up.

Robert 'Chevy' Chase was standing by the window, making notes on a clipboard. "Don't call me that," he said on a sigh. "You know I hate it." He was one of the lower ranking crime scene scientists, despite his forty-something years. "And watch where you step." He indicated the mess on the floor.

The detectives looked around. "Did someone search?" Ryan asked, reholstering.

"I don't think so. I get the feeling the tenant liked to live like this."

Esposito stepped over an open pizza box, a slice still adhering to the cardboard. Several flies lifted into the air as he did so. "Nobody wants to live like this," he said firmly. "Although it sort of reminds me of your place," he added to Ryan.

His partner made the '_wow, a comic but don't give up the day job_' face.

Chase ignored the comment. "Apparently Mr Drexler preferred to spend his money on other pursuits." He shot them both a look. "I suppose if you're out of your skull for most of the time, the little things like being able to see the carpet pale into insignificance."

"Or personal hygiene." Ryan was trying not to breathe through his nose.

"Not his problem any more." Chase made a final notation on his board and turned to look at them. "To what do I owe this honour? And where's the cop who was on the door?"

"Only us, Chevy."

"I told you … oh, forget it. And I imagine he went for coffee and a donut."

"And we were wondering what you found," Esposito put in, also ignoring the dig against all cops.

"Is this your case?"

"It might be … pertinent."

Raising an eyebrow, Chase shrugged. "Fine." He looked down at the detritus of human existence. "Well, there's what you'd expect. Needles, silver foil, a lighter, and some white powder."

"Heroin?" Ryan asked.

"As I haven't done a definitive analysis yet –"

"Best guess, Chevy."

"Then yes. Good quality, too. Almost pure."

"That confirms what Lanie said," Ryan commented.

Chase smiled. "Ah, our esteemed medical examiner. And how is the dear lady?"

"She's good."

"Please, give her my regards. We don't see her nearly enough in the lab."

Esposito squashed a smile, and just nodded. "Will do."

Ryan, on the other hand, was more interested in something else. "Is that it? Just drug stuff?"

"Well, no." He held out half a dozen evidence bags containing sheets of paper. "And be careful with those."

"When aren't I?" Ryan countered.

"I do believe I recall a case some years ago when –"

"I was a rookie then," Ryan interrupted, knowing exactly what Chase was referring to. "And everyone has bad days." He flicked through the bags, Esposito looking over his shoulder. "Were they like this when you found them?" At least one of the papers appeared to have been wrapped in clingfilm as well.

"Exactly like that. Hidden down behind the bed. I'd say someone wanted to preserve any trace."

Ryan turned to his colleague. "Drexler?"

Esposito shrugged. "Would he have the know-how?"

"Anyone who watches TV knows about fingerprints."

"Wait a minute." Esposito snagged one of the pages and held it up to the light. "This looks familiar."

"Let me see." Ryan studied it. "It looks like that hand-written page found at Honor McAllister's."

"Yeah, the threatening letter from Castle."

"Except this has dialogue on it." He turned back to Chase. "Can you check them out? Print them?"

The scientist shook his head. "We're backed up. In fact, I'm surprised I managed to get here today, what with all the work we've got on. They just won't hire any more staff, not in this economic climate." It was obviously a subject close to his heart, because he seemed to settle into himself, ready to have a long debate about it. "I keep telling them, if they don't at least take some of the minor workloads off our hands we might –"

Esposito interrupted. "Chevy. Fingerprints."

The man looked disgruntled. "A week. Perhaps."

Ryan took a breath. "We need them sooner." He knew he had to take him into their confidence. "Chevy … Robert … it's to do with the case against Richard Castle."

Chase's eyes lit up. "Pro or con?"

"We don't think he did it."

The older man considered for a moment. "Just fingerprints?" he asked.

"Could you see if it comes from the same pad as one of the bits of evidence from the McAllister murder case?"

"I suppose …"

Ryan grinned. "Thanks, Chevy."

"On one condition. That you don't call me that."

"Fine. We won't."

"Oh, and one more thing. Tell Castle I expect a personally autographed copy of Heat Wave as soon as it comes out."

"Will do."

---

"Still bored?" Rick asked, this time making tea.

Kate sat with her head on the back of the sofa, gazing into nothing. "Not bored. Thinking."

They were in the apartment on their own, Maggie having received a call from Alexis asking her to come and visit. Oh, and bring some of the schoolwork she was missing.

"Are you sure she's your daughter?" she'd asked Rick after hanging up.

"I know. But I decided not to take the DNA test just in case." He grinned as he wrote her a note to take to the school. "Sometimes I'd rather be lucky than sure."

Maggie had laughed, slipping the single sheet of paper into her pocket before walking out.

Now Rick looked up at his partner. "Anything worth sharing?"

Kate groaned. "You mean apart from the fact I want to be at Drexler's apartment? That I want to be running down the leads, looking into the finances, talking to the suspects?"

"Are there any? Other than me, I mean."

"Drexler."

"He's dead."

"But unlikely to be working alone."

"True."

"And that's the point. I have a couple of ideas, but nothing I can put my finger on at the moment." She sighed deeply. "I just feel like … like it's coming to a boil. Things are happening, and I want to be part of them."

"You will be. And they'll call soon." Rick carried a tray to the coffee table, putting it down carefully. He sat down. "Do you want to be mother?"

"I'll let you this time."

"I'll borrow a dress." He held up a tiny jug. "Milk or lemon?"

"Black."

"Mmn, daring. I like it." He busied himself putting a little milk into one of the cups. "You know, I think you'd make a good mother." He glanced up. "I mean, look at the way you treat Ryan and Esposito."

She glared at him. "Are you saying I mother them?"

"Well, maybe not mother. Big sister, perhaps." He smiled at her. "You have to admit, you tell them what to do."

"I'm senior detective. It's my job."

"And you do it really well."

He sounded so sincere she was taken aback. "I … thanks."

"Sugar?"

_Had he just called her …?_ "What?"

His lips were twitching as he lifted up a bowl. "One lump or two?"

"None. Thanks."

"Fine." He poured the tea, watching her as she picked up her cup and took a sip. "Feeling better?"

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are." He sat back, nursing his own cup.

"Don't try and psychoanalyse me, Castle. I've had professionals do that."

"And yet you're still sane," he quipped.

"Sometimes I wonder."

"Don't." Again, the sincerity was evident in his voice. "You do a great job, and you care. I've seen enough of the NYPD to know what you do can take you one of several ways."

"Really." She raised an eyebrow, humouring him. "And what would they be."

"Indifferent. Maybe even callous. Not wanting to know about the human angle, just needing to get that conviction, and damn the victims."

She was interested, despite herself. "Go on."

"Marital problems. Not that you're going to have those, seeing as you're not married," he added quickly to forestall her objection. "But cops rarely reach their crystal anniversary."

"Crystal?"

"Fifteenth."

"And this from a man who's been married twice already."

He raised his cup in a toast. "Granted. But it still holds."

"And I can guess the others. Alcoholism. Suicide. And psychiatric help."

Her face had hardened a little, and he felt a stab of something like guilt hit him just below the ribs, and the file on her mother flash into his mind. He dismissed it quickly. "Booze, yes. Easy, comparatively cheap, and guaranteed to knock you out at night. despite everything you've seen during the day."

"It doesn't work, though." She was talking about her father, they both knew that. "It never works."

"And cops don't kill themselves any more often than normal New York folks." At her look, he went on, "I did some research once."

"I'm sure you did."

"And you're not crazy, Kate." He sat forward, cradling the cup in his large hands. "You went into therapy for a very specific reason. And now you're not."

"Are you sure about that?"

"The _not being crazy_ part or the _not still being in therapy_ part?"

Her cellphone buzzed, breaking the mood and the tension, and Kate grabbed it like a lifeline tossed to someone drowning. "Esposito. Tell me." She listened, then looked up. "They found some pages in Drexler's apartment that look to be in your handwriting."

Rick's eyebrows raised. "Pages?"

"Pages."

"What do they say?"

She spoke into the phone. "What does … No, wait." She stopped and thumbed the speaker button. "What do they say?"

Esposito's voice came thinly but clearly out of the phone. _"It looks like notes on dialogue. You know, who said what to whom about –"_

"I know what dialogue is."

"_Excuse me for breathing."_ He didn't sound insulted, though. _"It's between someone called Warlock and … looks like –"_

"Granger," Rick said, almost involuntarily. "But that's from …" His eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet, half-running into the study.

"_What's going on?"_ Esposito wanted to know.

"I'm not sure." Kate followed. "Hang on."

Rick was searching through the cupboards under one of the bookshelves, muttering to himself. "I know I didn't … I keep them in … Mother wouldn't have … but …" He pounced. "A-ha!" He turned, a green cardboard fold-over wallet in his hands.

"Castle?"

"These are some notes I made for a book I never got around to writing." He shrugged. "Derrick Storm was taking off, and it got put on the back burner." A half-smile lit his lips. "Maybe I'll dust it off for Nikki Heat."

"With characters called Warlock?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time, but okay, so maybe I'd change that." He flipped the top of the document wallet. "At least I would if it were here." He held it out, showing the absolute absence of Warlock, Granger or anyone else.

"Okay, put it down." Kate said. "Carefully. Don't smudge any fingerprints."

"_Beckett?"_ Esposito was still holding.

"Are you looking into the security tapes for this building?" she asked, watching Rick place the folder on the desk, his face making odd expressions as he tried to do it without touching more than necessary. He let it drop the final inch then stepped back.

"_Not yet. Just got word they're ready for us to pick up."_

"Good. Come up to the apartment and bring a large evidence bag."

"_Something good?"_

"I think it might be." She flipped the phone closed then looked at Rick, who had an annoying, self-satisfied smirk on his face. "Well?" she demanded.

"The letter they found, threatening Honor."

"What about it?"

"It didn't give names, did it?"

"No."

He leaned on the desk. "Then that's all I need."

"Castle …"

"It was never meant for her. It wasn't meant for anyone."

"That doesn't make sense. And there's no proof the letter wasn't to her."

"Yes, there is." He grinned, gazing at her from under his eyebrows. "And the cops already have it."

Kate briefly closed her eyes. "If you don't spit it out, I am so tempted to shoot you."

"Are you carrying? Maybe a back-up piece, strapped to your –"

"Castle!"

He indicated the folder. "That wasn't the only copy."

"I don't see how –"

"Notes like that, just jottings, ideas … I don't bother retyping. I just scan them. Onto my laptop."

"Your …"

He nodded. "The one the cops took away with them."

"And the letter?"

"I had some idea about one of the characters writing a threatening letter to the other, and tried various styles." He closed the gap between them until there was barely daylight. "What do you want to bet the one they found in Honor's place was one of them?"

"Drexler."

"Exactly."

"Any idea when they went missing?" She stepped back, away from him, re-establishing her comfort zone.

"Nope. I don't look in that cupboard very often. It's just where I put stuff."

She understood, having one of those herself. "So it could have been months."

"The glass paperweight, on the other hand, Alexis only gave me two weeks ago." He watched her make the connection.

"The one that stunned Honor."

"The one with my fingerprints on."

"The one that they found blood and hair on."

"Smeared on after?"

"It's possible."

"Would Lanie be able to tell?"

"I'll ask." She lifted her cellphone again, speed-dialling, then realised Rick was still grinning. "What?" she asked, waiting for the other end to pick up.

"This is great, isn't it? Bouncing ideas off each other like this, back and forth. Maybe I should be arrested more often."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Bad for your reputation?"

"And my digestion. You make your tea way too strong."


	14. Chapter 14

Kate strode into Montgomery's office, her head high, a slight smile on her lips. "Sir, I want back on the case."

The captain looked up from his paperwork. "Beckett, you know that isn't going to happen."

"Oh, I think it might." She put a folder on his desk.

"What's this?"

"The reason."

Montgomery gazed at her for what seemed like hours, but he finally opened the file and began to read. He grew still. "You're sure about this?" he asked, staring at the faxed report from Dr Parish.

"Yes, sir. The ME took another look at Ms McAllister's skull and determined there had been no blood flow through that area at the time of the injury."

"So she was hit on the head post-mortem."

"Some time post-mortem. Lanie told me lividity was fixed from when Honor was lying face down, probably for several hours."

"I can read that, Beckett."

"Yes, sir. But that does tie in with the CSUs report of a void in the bloodstain in Honor's apartment."

"Mmn." He turned more sheets. "And the letter."

"The original to that and the other pages found at Drexler's apartment were stolen from Castle's loft, and the techs agree the scans on his laptop haven't been tampered with."

"Stolen by Drexler."

"Yes, sir."

He paused at the colour printout catching Marty Drexler in the corridor outside Castle's apartment, trying to keep out of the way of the security cameras, but there was a single shot clearly showing his face. It was time and date stamped. "Stavich might contend Drexler was merely visiting his boss," Montgomery pointed out.

"He might," Kate allowed, glad she'd given Esposito and Ryan time to find the proof on the tapes before seeing her boss. "Except he'd have to explain away the witness statements from a number of reliable police officers. Including you, sir."

Montgomery looked up, amusement visible for just a moment in his eyes. "Me?"

"Yes, sir. Because at that particular moment, and for a number of hours either side, Castle was involved in the capture of Sylvester Blake, up to and including the car chase."

He sat back. "Your boys have been busy."

"Just doing their job."

"Even though Castle was arrested and charged."

"It doesn't do our rep any good for the wrong man to go to jail."

"So you think Drexler's our man."

She relaxed a notch, knowing she had him on her side. "For the break-in and planting the evidence in Castle's car, yes. But I'm not so sure about the murder."

"Difficult to ask him." _Seeing as he's stone cold on a slab right now_ was inferred if not said.

"Yes, sir."

"And the decision to frame Castle?"

"I don't think Drexler had the intelligence."

Montgomery gazed at her, and as usual she couldn't tell what was going on behind his eyes. "Stavich won't be pleased."

"I'm not suggesting you throw him off. I'll work with him. We can sort this out together."

"You think you can?"

"I'll give it damn good try, sir."

"I was thinking more of you working with the man than sorting the mess." Montgomery paused, then said, "I'll call the DA, let him in on the new evidence, see what we can do about getting Castle off the hook."

"Thank you."

"As for Stavich … get him in here."

"Yes, sir."

She walked out, more spring in her step than she'd had for days, aware the whole of the squad room was watching her. Stavich was standing by her desk, his arms crossed, radiating annoyance. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

She ignored the question, instead saying, "The captain wants a word."

"What?" He glanced towards the captain's office.

"Now," she added.

His eyes tightening, and a little vein starting to throb on his temple, Stavich strode across the room.

Kate sat down, looking justifiably smug, knowing every eye in the bullpen was following him, even as Montgomery's voice filtered out. "Close the door."

Ryan winced and glanced at his partner. "That doesn't look good."

"No," Esposito agreed.

"And it means we can't hear."

"I don't know if that's going to be a problem."

There was already an argument going on inside the glass office, and Stavich's voice was raised, but not enough for them to be able to make out the words.

"Think we should maybe go and do some filing?" Ryan looked pointedly at the cabinets next to the closed door.

"Well, my desk is a little untidy."

"Then perhaps –"

"No," Kate said firmly. "You guys stay put."

"Spoilsport," Esposito muttered, but hurriedly picked up his mug and headed for the espresso machine at her look.

She hid a smile, instead turning to look at Ryan. "Do you have the full –"

"Case file?" he interrupted. "Got it right here." He handed her a folder.

"Thanks. And … thanks for believing in Castle."

"Hey, it wasn't that much of a stretch." He grinned. "Besides, you do, so we do."

"Thanks anyway." She opened it and began to read. Most of it she already knew, but it was nice to get the details right.

Esposito wandered back, putting one of the small cups of dark coffee down next to her, then coughed significantly. Kate looked up.

Stavich had left Montgomery's office and now strode towards her desk.

She got to her feet, not wanting to be at a disadvantage.

He still tried to tower over her, using his greater bulk to intimidate. "So you're back in."

She wasn't buying it. "Seems like it."

"Did you think I'd hide the evidence?" Stavich asked, moving closer, only a couple of inches from Kate. She could almost feel him breathing, and his face was tinged with the redness of anger that she remembered all too well.

"Not sure. I hope not."

"But you thought I wouldn't be looking that hard."

Her chin came up. "Were you?"

"You don't know me as well as I thought you did."

"Perhaps not. But you used to be a good cop." She gazed at him, almost trying to see past what he was to what she had once thought he might be. "What happened to you?"

"Have you seen my record?" he asked in turn.

"And the number of appeals against your convictions."

He shrugged. "Shit happens."

"It does when you take short cuts."

"So are you planning on trying to reform me?"

Kate shook her head slowly. "No. The truth is, I don't care if you're out of here, but I'm giving you a chance to make things right. Castle is innocent. We've got proof."

"Circumstantial."

"My circumstantial still beats yours."

His eyes narrowed a little. "So you and him … you're really a couple?"

"No. He's my colleague."

"He's a writer. A hack."

She let her lips lift. "I'd forgotten you didn't like his books." They'd had more than one discussion on hat very subject when they were going out.

"I never understood why you did. It's all … glamour and sleaze."

"At least he doesn't jump to conclusions. He's willing to listen."

"I'm sure he is. Until he gets what he wants." If anything he moved a little closer. "I've heard the stories about Ricky Castle. He might as well have a ticket machine by his bedroom door – just take a number and he'll be with you shortly." He looked her up and down. "He'll use you, Kate, then drop you like a hot potato."

"Maybe I'll be the one using him," she breathed. "Just like Nikki Heat. All glamour and sleaze." Pausing only a moment she stepped back. "Are you going to work with us, or do I have to go and see the captain again?"

He studied her, considering his options, then he nodded. "Fine. But I'm lead. It won't do my rep any harm to be seen as an advocate of the innocent."

Esposito exchanged glances with Ryan, feeling his feet wanting to take a step away in case there was fall-out from the explosion that was sure to occur.

Except Kate surprised all of them. She smiled. "Of course."

Stavich looked taken aback, as if he'd been looking forward to the knock-down, drag out fight over seniority. "Right." He paused. "Right." Pulling himself back together he took a deep breath. "Okay. Well, if Castle is out of the frame, and Drexler's dead, we have to start from scratch, and that means looking into the victim a lot deeper." He pointed at Ryan. "Check out McAllister's background. See if she had any money problems."

The detective flicked his eyes briefly to Kate, an action that didn't go unnoticed by Stavich. At her faint nod, Ryan said, "Already done. And she had no money worries at all. I've found four bank accounts so far in the names of Honor McAllister, Monique Hagan, Honor Hagan and Monique McAllister. They run into seven figures."

Stavich glanced at Kate, his lips twitching. "You've got them trained well. They're very loyal."

"It's not that they're loyal. It's just that they're good cops. Like you used to be."

"Okay, Kate. You can stop twisting the knife in my back."

"Would I do that?" she asked, way too sweetly.

"I can feel it grinding against my spine as we speak."

"A guilty conscience perhaps."

"I doubt it. But maybe you should just bring me up to speed before I waste my breath giving orders."

"Good idea." She led the way back to her desk, making him follow. "Honor was blackmailing people, had been for a long time. According to her ex-husband, she'd find out something juicy on someone, write a piece then threaten to publish unless they paid up."

"Maybe that's what she did with your pal Castle."

"Oh, I don't think there's much dirty laundry in his life hasn't already been washed in public. And he's the kind of man who'd say _publish and be damned_."

"You must really like him."

"Who, Castle?"

"To risk your career for him."

"He's innocent."

"That doesn't stop him being convicted. We both know that."

"No, but it means he should be given the benefit of the doubt."

Stavich laughed. "Kate, we're cops. We're not allowed to do that."

"Maybe not, but by the same token we have to look at all the evidence, not just the bits that fit our theory."

He looked like he'd bitten back on some comment, but instead merely asked, "How did you find out? About what her ex said."

"I might have … paid him a visit. In a purely unofficial capacity, of course."

"Of course."

"Just a visitor. And he didn't have to agree to see me. In fact, he was pretty upset by her death."

"So you've ruled him out as being involved?"

"Difficult to see how he can be." Kate walked to the murder boards, pointedly removing Castle's photo from top and centre, and writing a large question mark in its place.

"So you think it was someone she was blackmailing? The next person on her exposé list?"

Kate shrugged. "The problem is, we don't know who that was going to be. Even her publisher didn't."

"And her laptop's no help," Stavich added, joining her. "The techs say they can't pick anything out, that it's been very professionally wiped." At her look he went on, "And yes, I did ask them to check. I'll admit I was looking for evidence of whatever she had on your boy, but I did ask."

"Good. There might be hope for you yet." She tapped the picture of Marty Drexler. "Was he capable of wiping a hard drive?"

Ryan was at her elbow with Drexler's rap sheet. "I doubt it. He didn't finish high school, and his parole officer considers his education was stuck somewhere around 7th Grade. There's no indication he had any talents apart from breaking and entering. And he wasn't even very good at that. In and out of juvie, then jail … maybe he should have stayed at school." He gave a small chuckle. "The only interesting thing about this whole file is that he was once defended by Petra Bentley."

"The ice queen?" Kate took the file, reading swiftly. "Right. That would be back when she was a PD, at the beginning of her career."

"And now she defends people who have the money to pay big bucks."

"Interesting coincidence, though."

"She didn't get him off," Ryan pointed out.

"No, but I'd say the sentence he served was a lot less than the case deserved."

Ryan shrugged. "So she was good even back then."

Something was nudging Kate, like a kitten wanting to be petted, but when she tried to reach for it there was nothing. Knowing she'd probably have a flash of insight at three in the morning, and looking forward to it immensely – okay, she was being just a little facetious, she knew – she went back to the original question. "So if it wasn't Drexler, who had the skills? It had to be someone who knew what they were doing."

"You want me to look into his friends and associates?"

"Maybe later, but I think Honor McAllister aka Monique Hagan is our first priority. What made her tick? What about _her_ friends and associates? She was getting her information from somewhere – check her datebook, see if you can't backtrack."

"You got it."

Esposito had followed them to the wall, and was now leaning against the board, gazing at the photo of the victim, and Kate realised there was a pensive look on his face. "What?" she asked.

"Just thinking," he said. "What if … what if, because she knew she was terminal, she wasn't after money? Not this last time. I mean, if Ryan's right, she didn't exactly need it. Maybe she just wanted to expose someone?"

"Then why blackmail?"

"Maybe it wasn't. Maybe whoever she was going to write about didn't want that story getting out, one way or the other, and without being able to pay Honor off, figured there was no other way out. Except murder."

Kate nodded slowly, letting the possibility roll around her brain. "That's a good point. Something to bear in mind. And talking of her accounts, find out who's the beneficiary of her will. There's always the possibility someone didn't want to wait."

"Yes, boss."

Her two colleagues went back to their desks to start their tasks, leaving Kate and Stavich alone.

"You really don't need me, do you?" he asked, shaking his head.

"We've been working together for a long time," Kate pointed out. "But like you said, you're the lead officer on this case."

"You'd never know it."

Kate sighed. "Paul, if you've got something to say, just come out and say it."

"Oh, you mean like, I feel like a fifth wheel? A nudist at a football match? Or maybe I'm just getting frostbite from standing out in the cold." His tone was only half-joking.

"Do you have anything you want to add? Anything different you think we should be doing?"

Unexpectedly a smile creased his face. "Not right now. But I'll tell you if I do."

"Good."

"Anything you'd like me to be getting on with?"

"You could get me a coffee. Mine's gone cold."

This time he laughed. "Yeah, right. I can't even begin to figure out how to work that machine."

"In which case, see if you can have another word with Ferdie McAllister. He might be persuaded to part with the names of some of people who supplied his ex with information."

"Officially, this time, you mean."

"Of course.

Stavich nodded. "Oh, and I think I'll give you the pleasure of telling Castle it looks like the charges are being dropped," he said, heading back to his temporary desk. "I think you'll enjoy it more."

This time Kate smiled widely as she pulled her cellphone from her pocket.

---

Rick sat back in his chair and stared into nothing. He couldn't believe it. Oh, he'd been telling himself for days that Kate would get him out of this, that the likelihood of him spending the rest of his natural life behind bars was just a bad dream, and the nightmare of the death penalty was just that – a nightmare. But there had been a small part of him, right at the back of his mind, the bit that looked at him sometimes and told him to stop making an ass of himself … that part had wondered.

After Kate had talked to Lanie he began to hope in earnest, although the wait until Esposito rang back and said his laptop had come through, and the security tapes from his building showed Drexler … that had almost driven him up the wall with stress. If it had been Maggie with him, he'd have suggested they watch TV, maybe found some violent action movie to sit through, side by side, but somehow he couldn't see Kate doing that. So he'd had to put up with it, consciously keeping himself from biting his nails down to the quick.

Now, though, hearing the words, hearing her say the actual words that he was going to be a free man … now he felt like celebrating, shouting to the world that he was coming back.

He laughed, the sound rolling through the empty apartment, filling the nooks and crannies, making him glad nobody was around to accuse him of being too close to the edge of hysteria.

Maggie had rung earlier, saying she was staying with Alexis for a few hours, that she needed her help with her homework.

"_My_ Alexis? We are talking about the same girl, here, aren't we?"

Mags had snorted down the phone at him. "If you recall, I did finish college."

"So what subject does she want help with?"

"If you must know, differential calculus."

He grinned widely. "Go on, then. Amaze me with your knowledge."

Instead she swore at him, and he'd laughed even harder.

Now he wondered if he shouldn't call her, tell her the good news. Or even better, call Alexis. She probably needed a break right now from Maggie's kind of help, and he could imagine the noise his daughter was going to make on being told she wasn't going to have a jailbird for a dad.

He reached for the phone again and realised he could barely see the dial. Either he was losing his sight in a very rapid fashion, or it was getting dark. Glancing at the wall clock, he was surprised to find it was still comparatively early in the afternoon, so there had to be another reason. He got to his feet and crossed to the glass that separated him from the city, seeing the clouds brewing along the skyline. It was going to rain, he could tell, and when he opened the window, he could taste tin on the sticky breeze.

Good. Hot weather this early in the year meant nothing but trouble, and a good downpour would clear the air, make things fresh again. In fact, it was a pity he couldn't go out for a walk in it, feeling it soaking his skin and washing away the faint smell of prison that he imagined still hung about him.

He grinned. Now _that_ was letting his imagination run away from him.

Turning back to his desk, he flicked on a couple of lamps, settling himself comfortably before picking up the phone and speed-dialling Alexis' cell. It rang once, twice, then …

"Dad? What is it? What's happened?"

He smiled again, this time indulgently. "Are you sitting down?"

---

Petra sat in her car and watched the clouds gather. On the radio the weatherman was telling everyone to close their windows, as the heat was about to break in spectacular fashion, and at that point, as if arranged, a distant rumble of thunder rolled across the city, barely heard above the regular run of traffic, but promising more to come.

She glanced up at the windows of the penthouse loft, lights now showing, and she smiled. Just a little longer, then she'd call her office, see if they'd heard from the District Attorney yet. Or possibly the Mayor himself might be the one to call. One way or another, her plans were coming to fruition, and if there was any delay, well, Rick would be even more grateful for her persistence and hard work in saving his skin. She'd be dismissive of his praise, of course, but she'd let him take her in his arms, lower his lips to hers, and swear to love her forever.

Really, things could not have worked out better …


	15. Chapter 15

Kate stretched, feeling the muscles in the back of her shoulders complaining, as well as the slight buzz from too much ...

"Coffee?" Stavich asked, perching on the corner of her desk.

She grimaced, even though the smell of the black liquid was making her mouth water. "I've had enough."

"Your loss."

"And I thought you didn't know how to work the machine," she pointed out.

"So maybe I bribed someone to do it for me." He grinned and shrugged at the same time. "Just using my natural, God-given talents."

"Is that what you call it?"

"What else?"

"Oh, I can think of a few more descriptive phrases."

He glanced around the squad room to see if anyone was watching, then he leaned down, talking quieter so only she could hear. "You never used to call me any of them," he whispered. "I seem to recall –"

She interrupted quickly. "I don't."

"I could remind you."

Kate took a deep breath, just gazing at him. "Not interested, Paul. What we had was, I admit, fun, but it was only that. We both know we didn't want it to be anything more."

"Maybe I've changed."

"Not that much."

"Uh, should I come back later?" Esposito was standing a few feet away, looking from one to the other.

"No, we're good." Stavich hadn't moved.

"Beckett?" Esposito wasn't going to take his word for it.

Kate nodded. "It's okay." She span in her chair to look at him. "What do you have?"

Esposito put the slight unease he felt on the back burner, instead referring to his notebook. "The info you wanted finally came through. Honor McAllister's will leaves her money in a split between various charities, and her ex-husband Ferdie."

"That gives him motive," Stavich said.

"Motive, maybe, but not opportunity." Kate shook her head. "There's no indication he knew Drexler. And being inside for four years has probably put a bit of a dent in his social circle."

"You think it might make him law-abiding when he gets out of jail?" Esposito asked.

"I doubt it." Kate almost smiled. "I think that's half the fun with him. He could be as rich as Croesus and still want to play."

"If the courts let him keep it," Stavich pointed out. "If we can prove the money came from blackmail, it could be confiscated."

"Not our problem." She leaned back. "Anything else?"

"Not getting far with the datebook," Esposito admitted. "Unless you want to consider the Mayor as a potential suspect."

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she imagined the 'big cheese' in handcuffs. "Maybe not."

"Apart from that, it's just what you'd expect. Meetings, appointments … if you want we can check each one out, see if there's a pattern, but that gonna take a while, and –"

"And any evidence from it would get thrown out because we know it's been tampered with," Kate finished. "I know. It was something of a long shot anyway." She got up and approached the murder board. "I just can't help feeling we've missed something. Something really simple, staring us in the face."

"Maybe we're looking at it the wrong way round," Stavich said, joining her.

"What do you mean?"

"We've been looking for connections between Honor McAllister and her blackmail victims. Except we don't know who they are."

"Granted."

"So who _do_ we know? I mean, names. People connected with the case."

Kate's clear sable eyes narrowed a little and she stepped forward, gazing at the photos pinned up. "Honor McAllister," she said slowly. "And Marty Drexler."

"And your boy." Stavich tapped the publicity photo of Richard Castle with an outstretched finger.

"He's not –" Kate began to protest, but he cut her off.

"Not guilty, yes, I know, you've told me enough." He turned to look at her. "But he's involved. Somehow. Otherwise why would Drexler break into his apartment to steal things? And the knife. We're forgetting the murder weapon. That had to have been planted, maybe at the same time. Or was it taken, used to kill, then returned?"

Kate could feel the tendrils of something wrapping itself around her brain, promising beautiful results if only she could give them the time to flower. "Castle said Drexler had to know where the pages were. And there was no sign the place had been searched."

"So the killer, if we're assuming it wasn't Drexler, has to know Castle. And McAllister."

Peeling the two photos from the wall, Kate stared at them. "So what we should be looking for is the connection between them."

"They know a lot of the same people," Esposito put in, surprising them both that he was still there. "The Mayor for one."

Kate span on her heel. "Go back to the datebook and get a print of all her contacts. I'll take it to Castle, see if any of the other names ring a bell."

"Can't bear to be without his company even for a while, huh?" Stavich teased, but she ignored him.

"That'll have to wait a while, though," Ryan said, sticking his head around the corner. "There's someone here to see you."

---

Dominic Stirling was still dressed in his tweeds, but even he was beginning to look like he was wilting. He kept pushing his hair out of his face, looking far more nervous than he had done in his own environment.

Stavich glanced at Kate as they watched the man through the two-way mirror. "Suspect or co-conspirator?"

"Honor McAllister's publisher."

"That didn't answer my question."

Kate shrugged. "I don't think so. We looked into his background, and he comes from old money. The Herald is what keeps him busy."

"That doesn't mean he wasn't a blackmail target." Stavich crossed his arms. "So give me your gut feeling."

"That what you see is what you get. A man who lives off the failings of others."

"Sounds like every psychiatrist I've ever met."

Kate couldn't stop the smile, even though it was quickly stamped on. "But I don't think he's capable of murder, not like this. He might lash out at someone in a fit of pique, but the rest of it, all the manipulating behind the scenes? No."

"And if he confesses?"

"Then I'll have been wrong." She turned on her heel and walked around the corner into the interrogation room. "Mr Stirling. This is Detective Stavich." She motioned towards the man who had followed her inside. "What can we do for you?" She sat down, placing her files on the table.

Stirling went to push his hair back again, but instead grasped his hands in front of him. "I wondered …" He coughed nervously. "I wondered if you'd got any further with the investigation."

Stavich pulled a chair around and sat astride it, his muscular arms resting on the back. "You must read the papers, Mr Stirling. Hell, you write one of them. You know Richard Castle's been arrested."

"So I heard. But I didn't know if you were sure."

Kate tilted her head slightly. "If you're just on a fishing trip …"

"No! No." Stirling glanced around, as if afraid raising his voice was going to attract attention. "It's not that at all. I just … I don't know what proof you have."

"Are you saying you have proof?" Stavich's eyes lit up. Maybe they hadn't got the wrong guy after all.

"I … don't know."

Kate took a deep breath. "Mr Stirling, if you know something, or think you know something, you need to tell us."

Stavich nodded. "Besides, you have no idea the number of people who die because they had information and didn't tell the cops."

Stirling's face paled. "Are you suggesting I might be killed?"

"Detective Stavich isn't suggesting any such thing," Kate said firmly, shooting her temporary partner a glare. For a moment she wished it was Castle sitting there, with his insight and sympathetic face, ready to ask the pertinent question at just the right time. Still, hopefully it wouldn't be long before he was plaguing her again. She mentally shook herself, getting back to the matter in hand. "But you do need to tell us."

Stirling looked indecisive, but reached into his pocket. Both police officers tensed, relaxing when his hand came out clasping something small and bright red. "Honor sent me this." He held out something that resembled a lipstick case. "It's a memory stick. A flash drive."

Kate felt something stirring inside her, and Maggie's words came back to her, sitting in the car on the way to see Ferdie. _"McAllister was a stickler for the truth, so if she said you did something, she probably had the proof locked away in her little memory stick ..." _She didn't touch it. "When did she send it to you?"

"I found it the day I got back. She must have posted it just before she died." He paused. "It came with this note." He placed a folded sheet of paper on the table.

Kate opened it carefully, only touching the very edges.

'_Dominic, I know I've never given you the attention you wanted, or deserved, but I have a favour to ask of you. Something may happen to me, and when it does, I want you to give this to the police. Don't worry – you're not on here. It's just everyone else. And we won't mention this the next time we meet – it will be our secret.'_ It was signed with a flourish – _Honor_.

"Is this her writing?" Kate asked, sliding the note inside the file.

"Yes. Less controlled than usual, but it's hers. Perhaps she was in a hurry."

"Have you looked at the contents?"

"No."

Kate's gaze was relentless. "Do you want to try that one again?"

His resolve crumbled. "Yes. All right. Yes. I tried. But the files are password-protected."

"Then how do you know your secret isn't on here?"

"I trust Honor." He lifted his chin. "And I don't have any secrets."

"Why didn't you bring this to us earlier?" Stavich demanded.

"I'm only just back from –"

Kate interrupted. "Mr Stirling, you didn't go." Esposito had found out when he'd rung Camberwell Publications to determine when their leader would be back.

This time he didn't look worried to be caught out in a lie. He just shrugged. "I decided I didn't feel in the mood. I've been in my home in the Hamptons, relaxing. I got back to my apartment this morning and found the letter."

She wondered if that was a lie too, whether he'd taken it with him to try and crack the password protection, but decided it wasn't worth pushing. But there was something else. "Mr Stirling, did you know Honor McAllister was dying?"

Her bluntness took his breath away for a moment, then he regained his composure. "Yes. Yes, I did. She told me. But it wasn't common knowledge."

"Didn't she want people to know?"

"No. She said it would make them treat her differently, and she couldn't take the pity. I think, beyond myself, she might have told one or two at the most."

"Anyone in particular?" Stavich asked.

"No. Her ex-husband, perhaps, the last time she went to visit him, but I wouldn't swear to that. I mean, it's not like he could have done anything to help. And she has a cousin somewhere in Canada, but that's about all." He sighed. "I honestly thought that's what she meant in the note, that if she died …" He realised he was still clutching the flash drive. "Don't you want this?"

Stavich held out an evidence bag. "Just drop it in here."

Stirling did as he was told, then watched as Kate got to her feet.

"Thank you, Mr Stirling," she said.

"Is this ... helpful?"

"I'm sure it will be."

"Then perhaps ..." He seemed reluctant to finish.

"What?"

"Perhaps I could have the exclusive on whatever you find? You obviously don't believe Richard Castle had anything to do with this anymore, so there's a story to be had." He looked hopeful.

For a moment Kate wanted to wipe the tentative smile off his face, but she was a professional. "Thank you for all your help, Mr Stirling. I'll get someone to see you out." She walked out of the interrogation room, her hands gripping her pad hard enough to leave little crescent-shaped marks in the paper from her fingernails.

"Creep," Stavich said succinctly right behind her.

"For once I couldn't agree more."

"What is it about writers that make me want to take a shower?"

"They're not all bad."

"Really?"

"Really." Kate beckoned to Esposito. She handed him the file containing the note, Stavich doing the same with the evidence bag. "Get these printed, then see what the techs can do with the drive. I want to know what Honor thought was so important she wanted us to have it."

"You got it." He hurried away.

Ryan, sitting at his desk, held up the phone. "Stavich. It's for you."

"No rest for the wicked," he grinned.

"Then you can't be sleeping at all," she shot back.

He mimed being hit in the heart, then went to take the call.

Kate shook her head, pausing yet again by the murder board, but her mind wasn't on the case. Maybe Stavich hadn't been all that bad, she mused. They'd had fun, some good times. Maybe she remembered wrong. Only she knew she hadn't. There was a dark side to the man, and it came out when he was in a corner, or if someone disagreed with him, or just looked at him oddly. After that night in the bar in Little Italy, when she'd had to pull him off a guy just because he'd made some offhand comment …

She shook her head. Men like that didn't change. She'd seen enough evidence of it in her work, and she wasn't about to get caught up in it. At least with someone like Castle … well, she knew what was hidden under the surface. Pretty much more of the same. Except there were flashes of concern, of depths that maybe she'd like to explore one day … Maybe. Or maybe it would be better to just stick to being friends, and not be disappointed.

Movement behind her had her turning.

"The Mayor wants me to give him a personal update," Stavich said, shrugging into his jacket.

"You know he and Castle are poker buddies."

"Don't remind me." He almost chuckled. "If I come back with my ass in a sling, I'd be grateful if you didn't mention you can see teeth marks."

---

The thunderclouds seemed to be skirting the city, and the heat had become oppressive, increasing the burden on an already over-stretched system, and something was going to break at any time.

Only Rick was jubilant. He threw the door open, surprising Maggie, a champagne flute in his hand.

"Did I knock?" she asked.

"No. I must be feeling psychic today." He grinned and swigged the last of the amber liquid in his glass. "Champagne?"

"Are we celebrating?"

"We are." He walked back to the counter for a refill. "My declaration of innocence."

"I heard. Alexis nearly deafened me with her reaction."

"Ah, that little girl of mine." He smiled fondly, remembering the yell down the phone that had almost burst his own ear-drum. "She must love me after all."

"Of course she does."

He lifted the champagne bottle and poured, only splashing a little onto the worktop. "Did you know she's growing up?" He paused. "She won't be my little girl much longer."

Maggie had to smile. "How many of those have you had?"

"Not nearly enough." He quaffed half the glass, then realised. "Join me."

"No, I –"

"You keep telling me I drink too much. So drink with me and I won't be able to."

"That's really skewed logic."

"But practical." He got out another flute, managing to fill it without the bubbles overflowing, and topping up his own with the remaining dregs. He held out the full glass. "Here."

She took it carefully. "Thanks."

"To us."

"To us." They drank, Maggie feeling the usual fizz slipping down her throat and taking away the slight dryness. Rick, on the other hand, drained his in one. "I'm surprised you're not flat on your back on the floor," she commented.

"On this stuff?" Rick wrinkled his nose. "It'd take more than a bottle or two of this. Vodka, on the other hand …"

Maggie shuddered. "Don't even think of it."

He laughed. "You, me, a warm summer night, that row boat …"

"All our clothes floating away and having to get back to our rooms stark naked."

He sighed happily. "Ah, good times." He slapped his hands together. "But we need more champagne if we're going to wander down memory lane."

"I think you've had enough."

"No." Suddenly he was serious. "No, Mags. Not enough. I have to celebrate. I was this close, Mags. This close …" He held up his right hand, his thumb and forefinger almost touching.

"We weren't going to let that happen."

"No." The smile came back, just a little. "I know. You, Kate, my mother, Alexis …" He looked up. "Where are they, by the way? My loving family."

"I persuaded them to stay at Lanie's, at least until the official announcement. You've still got reporters camping outside your front door."

"I bet that didn't please Alexis."

"Not really, no."

"I'll call her. Tell her I'll take her somewhere, as a treat."

"She'd like that."

"Yeah." He smiled wider. "Now. Another bottle?"

"You're still under house arrest," Maggie pointed out, glancing down at the electronic tag still around his ankle, hidden by his pants leg.

"Yes, but it won't be long now. I'll be able to go where I want. When I want. Without feeling like I'd dragging around a ball and chain."

She laughed. "Okay. Champagne."

"And only the best for you." He waggled his eyebrows and led the way into the kitchen.

She leaned on the counter as he opened the fridge, reaching inside. "Why do you think Drexler framed you?"

"No idea." Rick stood back up, grasping the neck of a dark green bottle and beginning to remove the gold foil around the top. "We may never know, not now he's in that great penitentiary in the sky." He started to fiddle with the cage.

"Convenience?" Maggie suggested, starting to wince slightly.

"Or paid by someone else?" He shrugged. "Maybe." Pulling the wire free he smiled. "Hold onto your hat."

Maggie ducked slightly. "I'll just …"

"What?" He laughed. "You still not got over your phobia about champagne corks?"

"No."

He pretended to shake the bottle. "Maggie …"

"Don't!" She ducked lower, her eyes tightly closed.

There was a popping sound, and she looked up. "Bastard!" she exclaimed at the sight of Rick still holding the obviously unopened bottle, his finger by his mouth.

"My middle name," he said, grinning widely.

"No. Your middle name is –"

"A secret," he interrupted quickly, grabbing the cork with one hand and twisting the bottle with the other. There was a barely audible sound and the hiss of very expensive bubbles. "See?"

"If it's a secret, you need to remonstrate with your mother, because I'm not the only person she's told."

He sighed deeply. "I already have. Many times."

---

"How are the techs doing with that flash drive?" Kate asked Esposito as he made the espresso machine hiss and grumble.

"Stirling was right. All the information on it is password protected, but they're working on it."

"Any fingerprints?"

He shook his head. "Only Stirling's and Honor McAllister's, on either the drive or the letter, which makes it pretty likely the thing's legit. Looks like she knew something was up."

"Or maybe she was just playing safe, knowing she was already dying."

"Which only gives credence to my idea, that she wasn't trying to blackmail anyone, just expose them."

"But who?"

"A friend? Someone she was close to?"

"That's unlikely."

"Not impossible, though. And she was dying. You said yourself, she might have been delusional."

Kate bit her lip in thought. The trouble was, that opened up the field again, not just to those she was going to blackmail, but those she already had.

"Um, Beckett?" This was Ryan, but his voice sounded odd.

She turned, seeing him staring at his computer. Crossing the bull-pen, Esposito at her back, she asked, "What is it?"

"I was looking into Monique Hagan's background, like you asked. She went to Langley on a scholarship."

"So?"

"I did a little Googling, seeing what combinations would come up. And I found this." He hit a button on the keyboard and music began to play as images appeared on the screen.

Kate leaned down, her eyes widening. "That's Petra Bentley's MySpace page."

The strains of ABBA's _Winner Takes It All_ were wafting from the speakers. "Sounds like she's a fan of Mamma Mia."

"I wouldn't know." Kate wasn't going to admit under pain of … well, pain that she and Lanie went to see it twice. "And?" she prompted.

"Take a look." He scrolled down the page, through photo after photo, all with Petra Bentley front and centre, until he reached those from her school days. "This one, right here."

Five girls, all with their arms around each other, laughing and having a good time. The central figure was Petra, holding aloft the silver cup, but next to her, grinning widely … Kate read the title aloud. "_'Petra with her tournament-winning team of Kelly Graham, Joanne Gillivray, Lillian Porter and …' _She paused. "Damn."

Monique Hagan was smiling at them out of the photo, her arm around her best friend Petra's waist.

"Maybe they hadn't seen each other since college," Ryan suggested.

"It doesn't matter," Kate said firmly. "Petra knew about Honor McAllister's real name, and she never mentioned they were friends."

Esposito's forehead creased. "You're not suggesting …"

"Right now I'm not sure what I _am_ suggesting." Kate glanced at the board behind them. "What did our Ms Bentley major in at college?" she asked quietly.

Ryan scrolled back to the beginning of the section. "Pre-Law. And she minored in IT."

"The former I'm not surprised at, but … You think this would mean she'd know how to wipe a disk drive? How to add an appointment into a datebook and make it look like it had been there all along?"

Esposito shook his head. "Beckett, this is insane."

"Maybe I've been spending way too long around Castle, but this feels right."

"She's his lawyer!"

"And who's in a better position to make sure he's convicted? Or not?"

"And she knew Drexler," Ryan pointed out.

"You too?" Esposito was stunned. "You do know who you're talking about, don't you?"

"All too well." Kate looked at her partners. "That's why I'm not suggesting we arrest her quite yet. Dig some more," she told Ryan. "Anything that might link them more recently." She turned to Esposito. "Chase the techs. I want to know what's on the flash drive as soon as possible."

"Are you doing to tell Castle?" Esposito wanted to know, still worried for his colleagues' collective sanity.

"Not yet. It's possible this is all just a mental aberration on my part, and I wouldn't want it to turn up in the next Nikki Heat novel."

---

They sat together on the couch, close enough to touch at shoulder, thigh and hip.

"You were really worried about me, weren't you?" Rick said, watching the remaining bubbles run up the side of this glass, but not really wanting any more champagne that minute.

"Of course." She glanced up at him. "Weren't you?"

"I knew you'd come through, you and Kate."

"Rick, they have the death penalty in New York State."

"Only technically."

She ignored the interruption. "You could have –"

He put his finger on her lips. "I didn't. I trusted you."

"Sitting up here, directing us like a master of marionettes …"

"Better that than on death row."

She shuddered slightly. "Yes."

He lifted his arm and dropped it around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She laid her head against him.

He breathed in, smelling something floral about her, perhaps soap, or maybe perfume, but it was warmed by her personal scent, so familiar he wanted to bottle it, keep it for his old age when he could take it out occasionally, and remember. "Mags …"

She was listening to his heartbeat, strong and sure inside his chest, when it might so easily have been stopped forever, and that thought made her tremble. But it was nice, too, just being with him, the way they used to when they were younger, when life was simpler and they had both been so full of promise.

"Mags."

"What?" She looked up, and realised his face was only two inches from her own.

"I …" He leaned forward, closing the distance between them …

Someone knocked on the front door.

Rick didn't move. "Think I should get that?"

She could feel his breath on her face. "Probably."

"Bad timing?"

"Whose?"

He smiled, dipped just enough so their lips touched, however briefly, then stood up, settling his shoulders before going to the door and opening it. His eyebrows raised at the person revealed.

"Petra."


	16. Chapter 16

"Hello, Rick." Petra smiled, a glow about her, not the least from her hair, loosened from her normal chignon and flowing down over her shoulders.

"Petra. What are you doing here?" Rick still held onto the door.

"I have some wonderful news." She smiled coyly. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"I … yes, of course." He stood back.

"That's better." She patted his arm as she stepped into the apartment. "You know how much I hate to discuss business out in the …" She stopped, staring at the woman sitting on the couch.

"You know Maggie Maguire," Rick said, wondering if he had imagined her expression, as it was gone when she spoke again.

"Of course." She smiled. "But I had no idea you and she were …"

"Oh, we're not," Rick said quickly, ignoring the fact that they had been about to kiss. "We're just friends."

Petra appeared to dismiss the other woman, turning back to Rick and moving closer. "I thought we could celebrate." She held up a bottle of champagne. "I just got the news. You're going to be free, darling."

"I know."

Her mouth dropped open. "What?"

"I said I know." He moved past her to lean on the back of the sofa. "Kate told me. All about the new evidence, how it proves I didn't kill Honor McAllister."

Petra seemed a little flustered, but she pulled herself together again quickly. "Well, I'm glad you weren't left in suspense. Although I do feel the police should have had the grace to let your attorney inform you."

"She didn't want to leave me hanging either." He grinned. "I'm just glad somebody told me."

"Of course." She smiled. "And I'm glad all my work behind the scenes has paid off too."

"Behind the scenes?"

She pushed a blonde curl behind her ear. "I'll have you know I've been working tirelessly, trying to get all of the circumstantial evidence thrown out of court, meeting with influential people … doing my job, Richard. Making sure you were freed."

"Thanks, Petra." He glanced questioningly at Maggie, who shrugged. "Do you want to … join us for a drink?"

"Ah, no, I won't intrude. But I will take a rain check."

"No problem."

"Perhaps you'd like to share this between you." She held up the bottle.

"You keep it," Rick said. "I've got plenty, and –"

"No, I insist. I know where it goes." She walked into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and placing the bottle inside, carefully turning it so the label was uppermost. "There. Enjoy," she said, standing up and smoothing her skirt over her thighs. There was the ever-present hiss of silk, overlaid with a rumble of thunder from outside. "You know, I think it's going to pour down."

The other two glanced out of the window at the dark sky, and a flash of lightning blinded them for a moment.

Rick chuckled. "I think you're right. Better hurry or you'll get wet."

"Mmn." She walked back to the door, pausing next to Rick. "Another time," she murmured, reaching up and placing a kiss on his cheek, her lips barely brushing his skin. "I'll call first – make sure you're alone."

"Uh … sure." He watched her sashay out, then closed the door, turning and leaning on it. "That was … awkward."

"That's one way of putting it." Maggie got up. "You know, I'm hungry. I'm going to get some pizza. Anything you'd like?"

He knew what she was doing. He'd known what he was doing, too, before Petra arrived and broke the spell, but … "I'm sorry, Mags."

"Whatever for?" She actually managed to look surprised.

"Trying to kiss you."

"You did."

"Barely. And it wouldn't have stopped there, would it?"

Maggie didn't answer for a moment, then said, "I don't know."

"We could try again. See if it did."

Now she smiled, somewhat sadly. "No."

He walked towards her, standing close enough so that he could put his left hand on her shoulder and cup her jaw with his right. "You really think it would spoil things."

"I do."

"You know you're wrong, don't you?"

"I don't want to take that chance."

"Friends do sleep together."

"Not in my world."

"Then we'd better blame it on the champagne. But one day, Mags." His mouth curved. "Maybe even without the benefit of alcohol."

"Rick, whatever you do, don't hold your breath."

He laughed and pulled her closer, hugging her tightly.

Her arms came up, held him for a long minute, then let go, pushing him back. "So, what do you want on your pizza?" she asked brightly.

"I can order in," he offered.

"No, I'll go. I need some fresh air."

"You'll get wet."

"I'll dodge between the drops." She checked her pockets for cash. "Say now, or you'll get what you're given."

"Surprise me. You usually do."

She smiled. "Don't tempt me."

"I remember one time back in college –"

Maggie put a finger on his lips, stopping up his words. "Hold that thought, and make us some coffee for when I get back." She slipped out, adding, "And no more champagne."

Rick shook his head. Sometimes …

His cellphone rang.

---

Kate was tapping her pen on the desk, an uneven rhythm that was starting to get on the nerves of the rest of the officers in the squad room. She kept staring at the murder board, at the large question mark top and centre, itching to fill in a name, a picture, to go out and put the handcuffs on the person responsible. To see the ice-smile wiped off Petra Bentley's face.

Maybe she was wrong. It was something she had to keep telling herself. But what she'd said to the others, about the story fitting … it did. But without more proof, just knowing that Petra had gone to school with Honor's alter-ego, Monique … that wasn't enough.

"Beckett." Ryan's voice interrupted her thoughts.

She looked over. "What?"

"We got it." He grinned.

"The flash drive?"

"And the files."

She was on her feet in a moment, following him towards the tech side, Esposito on her heels. "Show me."

One of the cybergeeks who worked at the precinct was sitting in front of a bank of processors, making minute adjustments to a series of numbers on one of the screens.

"Brian, show the nice lady what you found," Ryan said.

The tech, looking like he was barely out of his teens, flashed a crooked smile. "Well, we used a low-level password software that does a subtle progression with algorithmic –"

"I meant the files."

"Oh." He deflated slightly. "Sure." Tapping a few keys, the image on the screen changed from numbers to a list, scrolling down. "There's more than a thousand individual folders, and several files in each, including some scanned documents. The stick is 128 gig and it's full, so –"

"Is there a point to this?" Kate asked.

Ryan held out a handful of printed sheets. "Oh, I think so."

Kate took them and scanned them quickly. She looked up sharply. "You're joking."

"Nope."

"What is it?" Esposito asked.

She handed them over. "Honor McAllister's final target."

Esposito began to read. _'In my full and varied life I have found one thing constant – the face that we present to the world so often hides another. I have attempted, in my own small way, to rectify that oversight by diligence of good research, giving the facts to you as I know them, and allowing you to make up your own minds. But this, the last of my pieces … well, let's just say I've kept the best until last. Because this person has always stood for what is right, for the truth, for integrity … except…"_ He stopped, glancing up at Kate before going on,_ " … except Petra Bentley's life, her career, has been based on a falsehood, the truth of which will reverberate through the corridors of power and may bring down Justice herself.'_

"Not one of her best," Ryan, connoisseur of Herald articles, commented.

"What does she mean? What falsehood?" Esposito asked.

"Ah." Ryan looked more than satisfied with himself. "I've sort of saved the best 'til last myself." He held out one more piece of paper. "We found this as a scan. Petra Bentley's birth certificate."

Kate gazed at it, then smiled like the Cheshire Cat, the grin getting wider until it seemed impossible it could grow any more. Or maybe it wasn't Lewis Carroll's metaphysical feline, but the one that got into the aviary and now had little yellow feathers all around its mouth. "We've got her," she said, her voice a purr.

Esposito looked over her shoulder. "I don't believe it."

"Don't believe what?" It was Paul Stavich, his jacket tossed over his shoulder, leaning on the doorway. "They told me you'd got something from the flash drive."

Kate turned. "Petra Bentley wasn't born with that name. Her birth name was Petronella Baricella."

Stavich stood straight. "Bari … You mean, _the_ Baricellas? The mob family?"

"How many others do you know?" Kate countered.

Esposito handed him the article. "Honor McAllister went into a lot of detail," he said.

"And there's more on the drive," Ryan added as Stavich read quickly through the pages. "Documents, letters … if it's a fake, it's the best I've ever seen."

"Damn," Stavich breathed, finally looking up. "Where is she?"

Ryan shrugged. "Her office, maybe?"

"Find out. Whatever else this is, it's enough to bring her in for questioning. Kate and I'll tell Montgomery."

Kate smiled again, licking her metaphorical whiskers.

---

"Are you sure about this?" the captain asked.

Stavich stood with his arms crossed, the shirt straining across his biceps. "Yes sir."

"Do you have any idea what's going to happen? Virtually every case that woman's been involved with will have to be looked at, gone over to see if she was influenced in any way."

"Honor McAllister thought she was, and a lot more than just influenced." Kate nodded at the file on his desk. "Dates, times, meetings … right back from when Petra was a public defender."

"How'd our victim get this information?" Montgomery wanted to know.

"That's something we might never know," Stavich admitted. "But there's hundreds of files on that drive, so it's possible we might be able to find out."

"Any proof she'd been blackmailing her subjects?"

Kate nodded. "More than enough. And how much." Brian had come up with the goods just before they left the lab, earning him a pat on the back from his favourite detective, while he went bright red. "But there's no second article." At Montgomery's look she went on, "Every other story on that drive had a counterpart, a sanitised version for publication if they handed over the cash. Except this one. It looks like Esposito was right, and she was going to go out with a bang and publish anyway."

"Maybe she told Petra Bentley," Stavich mused aloud. "Gave her one last chance to tell her side. Petra offered to buy her off, McAllister told her there was no point and …" He mimed stabbing someone.

"Honor was dying anyway," Kate said. "She had nothing to lose."

Ryan poked his head around the door. "Petra Bentley's office says they haven't seen her all day, and there's no response at her home."

"Did they give you her cellphone number?" Montgomery asked.

"It's switched off."

The captain stood up. "Find her. Office first, see if they're just telling us what she's told them, then try her home. And see if the cellphone provider can give us a ping on it."

"Sir." Kate hurried out, Stavich close behind.

At her desk he caught her arm. "Kate. I know you don't believe me, but … something's biting me."

Kate slid her gun home at her waist, and glanced at him from under her eyebrows. "What?"

"Marty Drexler."

"What about him?"

"If Petra Bentley killed Honor McAllister, who killed Drexler?"

Her jaw dropped. "Petra?"

"Seems reasonable. Unless we're going to conjure up some random killer who gets his jollies from supplying almost pure heroin to junkies just to see them jump off roofs …"

Kate made the connection. "So if Petra kills Honor, has Drexler frame Castle, then maybe Drexler starts to blackmail her, she arranges for him to OD …" She stopped and her eyes widened. "You think she might be going after Castle next."

"I can't even begin to claim to know what goes on in women's heads, but like I said, something's niggling."

She grabbed her cellphone from the desk. "Come on. You drive, I'll call."

---

"No, kiddo, Maggie's right."

"_But I need some things. Books. And … and underwear."_

Rick grinned, sitting back on the sofa and looking out of the window as the first fat droplets splattered on the glass. "Alexis, I want you home as much as you want to be home. But until it's official, I don't want you tangling with any of those reporters downstairs."

"_They're just writers, Dad."_

"And you know how they can be."

There was a huge sigh from the other end of the line. _"Fine. I'll stay. One more night."_

"Thanks, pumpkin. You've made an old man very happy."

"_Mmn."_

He chuckled. "You're supposed to say that I'm not old."

"_I'm still mad at you."_

"I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"_How?"_

There was a chime on his phone, indicating another call trying to get through, but he ignored it, knowing it would go to voicemail. "What do you want?"

"_A pony."_

It was their joke, the ultimate apology, and this time he laughed out loud, even as his landline rang. He ignored that too.

---

"It's gone to answerphone as well," Kate said in frustration.

"He has to be there," Stavich pointed out, manoeuvring around a stationery truck and switching on the wipers. For a moment the dust that had accumulated mixed with the rain and smeared across the glass, then it cleared. "He's still tagged."

Kate had listened to the message in increasing annoyance, knowing that it was only displaced concern. Then … "Castle. Call me as soon as you get this. I'll keep trying. I have to speak to you as soon as possible." She hung up, immediately speed-dialling his cellphone again.

"You didn't tell him," Stavich said mildly, but she ignored him.

---

"_That's my final offer," _Alexis said. _"Take it or leave it."_

"Or you won't ever forgive me?"

"_Never."_

He waited a moment, as if he was considering his options. "Well, I still say you've got your grandmother, so what you need another pet for I don't –"

"_Dad!"_

"Okay, okay. I'll sponsor a dog at the shelter."

"_Five."_

"Two."

"_Three."_

"Done." He laughed. "If I ever let you learn how to play poker, you're going to clean up."

"_I already know how. Maggie taught me."_

"I'll be having words with her. Corrupting my innocent daughter like that."

"_Like you haven't been trying to get me to do outrageous things for years."_

"Only trying. If you ever did, I don't think my heart could stand it."

He could almost hear her smiling. _"I miss you, Dad."_

"Tomorrow, baby bird."

"_Okay. But if you renege it's going to be ten dogs."_

"Deal."

"_Okay. I'll talk to you later."_

"Okay, honey. Bye."

"_Bye."_

The line went dead and he thumbed it off, almost fumbling it as it rang immediately. Checking the caller ID he accepted the call. "Kate. What can I do for you?"

In the car Kate sighed in relief as the noise of the rain thundered on the roof, and the blurred reflections of red and green lights through the windshield made it feel as if they were under water. "Castle, just listen. It's Petra."

In the loft Rick felt a wave of confusion rush through him. "What?"

"_It's Petra. She killed Honor, and Drexler. And we think she might be coming after you too."_

Rick collected his jaw from the floor, and said, "Kate, that's crazy."

"_Her family name is Baricella."_

He stopped, his face still. "The mob."

"_The very same."_

He shook his head, even though he knew she couldn't see. "You're wrong. I'd know. Damn it, Kate, she defended me!"

"_I know. But she framed you in the first place."_

"Why? Tell me that. Why would she frame me? Just for the hell of it?"

"_You dumped her. Maybe it's a woman scorned."_

"That was months ago!"

"_Crazy people can hold onto anger for a long time, Castle."_

"No. You're wrong. She's done her damndest to get me off." He sounded like a petulant child, but he didn't care. "It's not her."

"_Castle …"_

"I don't believe you." He hung up, but it immediately rang again. This time he switched it off, tossing it carelessly onto the coffee table in front of him. The landline rang, and he got to his feet and tugged the cable from the wall connection. He knew he was being childish, but there was no way he could believe …

She couldn't be right. He'd know if it was Petra. Damn it, they'd slept together. He'd be able to tell. There'd be something that …

He stopped, glancing through the study door towards the large screen, at his very own murder board, still showing the rotating screen saver, pictures of himself and Maggie, a long time ago.

No. It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. Except … whoever framed him knew him, that much he'd come to realise. His life might be an open book, but this person had to know him pretty well, far more than just the occasional article in a magazine could provide. They knew where he kept his old notes, knew him well enough to be able to tell Marty Drexler exactly where to go and what to take, so he'd been able to come into the apartment and be out again in just a few minutes, not leaving a trace. Maybe the glass paperweight was an opportunistic pick-up, but that couldn't be said of the pages from his unfinished novel.

Could it be Petra? Was she the one who set him up, just so she could … what, rescue him? She had certainly been angry that he already knew he'd been cleared, and …

The penny dropped. That's why they'd broken up. She'd been getting possessive. They had only been out a matter of a dozen times or so, but from hints she'd dropped she was already planning the wedding, and how many children they were going to have.

"God, Kate's right," he murmured, his eyes wide.

His gaze shifted to the fridge where Petra had put the champagne as if she owned the place, and he felt the irrational urge to get it back out and pour it away, or better yet, smash the damn thing. Just drop it onto the kitchen flagstones and watch it shatter, green glass shards bleeding fizzing liquid ... His eyes fell on the knife block, and for a moment he couldn't tell what was wrong, even though his hindbrain was yelling at him.

Then it hit him. There was an unfilled space.

He approached slowly, as if it was just hiding and if he made too much noise it would make a break for it. But it remained empty, even as he reached out to touch the wood, feeling the grain under his fingertips, and the total and utter lack of knife.

Except it had been there earlier. He remembered. He'd used it to slice some fruit for breakfast, washed it, slid it home.

His eyes narrowed. Petra. It must have been her. Not only had she tried to frame him, but she'd taken to stealing things too. Maybe she had already – the hairs they'd found at Honor's place might have come from her stash. He certainly missed a hairbrush after she'd gone, telling himself it had accidentally been thrown out, along with various other items.

His breath caught. No. No. His hindbrain was now kicking him, shouting obscenities into his ear, trying to get his attention, and he suddenly realised what it was telling him. Petra had left first. But Maggie was only a minute or two later.

It was as if he was typing onto the screen, the facts appearing as if by magic. The look Petra had given her, finding her in the loft, a champagne glass in her hand … If Petra was that possessive, if she'd decided the best way to get him back was to frame him for murder first, what would she do about finding Maggie there? And Maggie had only left a few minutes after Petra …

Rick could feel his heart beginning to pound. He knew he'd seen that look on Petra's face, even if he'd convinced himself he was wrong. Hatred. Only for a split second, but there was no other word to describe it.

Without another conscious thought he ran for the door, only pausing to grab his cellphone from the table. Out in the corridor he came to a halt at the elevator, stabbing at the button at the same time as he speed-dialled – no, of course, he'd switched it off. Thumbing it back on, he glared at it, wanting it to connect quicker. He almost dropped it as it rang again.

"_Castle, listen. I –"_ Kate's voice was firm, insistent.

He didn't let her say another word. "You're right. It's Petra. And I think she's going after Maggie."

The elevator was taking too long, and he ran for the stairs, slamming the door back and going down two or three at a time, only not falling by virtue of his death grip on the handrail.

"_We're on our way,"_ Kate said. _"Stay inside and –"_

"Didn't you hear me?" He was panting, not just from exertion but from fear too. "She's going after Maggie. She has a knife. I have to stop her."

"_You're still tagged –"_

"Then damn well get here faster." He jammed the phone in his pocket, needing to concentrate on not breaking his neck as he reached the ground floor.

Rain beating a tattoo on the roof, wipers making little dent in the downpour, Kate looked at Stavich. "Floor it," she said. He nodded, and the car leapt forward, siren going and lights flashing.


	17. Chapter 17

The door slammed back and Rick staggered to a halt in the underground car park to his building. Three cars, and none of them Petra's. Needing to not take the time to catch his breath he ran up the slight incline to the road above, the rain instantly soaking through his clothes, making him blink to try and see properly. First one way then the other, but maybe the weather had persuaded people to stay inside, as the traffic going by either end seemed lighter than usual. And nothing he recognised.

He had to make a decision, take a quantum leap of faith. He turned right, running towards the cars, desperate to see if he could see Maggie, if his imagined horrors were only that, and she was walking towards the pizza place, her shoulders hunched down against the rain.

The sound of a siren hummed for his attention, and a black and white pulled up in front of him, barely twenty feet away. Without thinking he turned away as two officers he didn't recognise climbed out. _Not now_, he thought to himself. _Not now_.

"Richard Castle," one of them called as they walked towards him. "Stand still. You are under arrest for breaking the conditions of your bail and leaving your building."

He span on his heel, water flying from his soaked hair. "I have to find her," he said. Maybe he could get them to understand, to help. "Kate Beckett's on her way. She'll explain. You have to help me find her." He took a step forward.

"Stand still!" The uniformed man had his hand on his gun, ready to draw if necessary. He nodded to his partner, who pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

"You don't understand –"

The second officer grabbed him, trying to get his arms behind his back, but Rick attempted to pull away, twisting his torso and shoulders, using his advantage of height and weight. He was a big man, the ground was slippery, and the police officer went over backwards, landing with a hard thump on the tarmac.

His partner drew his gun, aiming with both hands. "And that's resisting arrest! Put your hands on your head or I will shoot!"

Rick closed his eyes in frustration, lifting his arms in surrender. As much as he wanted to run, to get away from these … these morons, it wouldn't help Maggie if he got injured. The man on the ground got to his feet, and none too gently pulled Rick's arm behind his back, slapping the handcuffs around his wrist before doing the same with the other hand. Dragging him towards the police car, the officer pushed him down to lie cheek to the hood as he was roughly frisked.

A treacherous part of his mind said he had to make a note of the contrast between the cold, rain-slick metal and the heat from the engine making the vents steam, but he ruthlessly pushed it aside. "Look, I have to –"

A hand on the back of his neck thrust him even harder onto the hood. "Quiet!"

"Wait!"

A familiar voice. Thank God, a familiar voice. He twisted enough to get his head around. "Kate?"

She was hurrying towards him, Paul Stavich at her heels.

"Detective Beckett," she called, showing her badge. "Let him up."

"He's under arrest," the officer with the gun said.

"No, he isn't." Stavich came to a halt. "The charges have been dropped, so the tag's obsolete."

The two uniforms exchanged a glance.

"We didn't get an update," the one who was still holding Rick down said.

"It's new."

"Look," Kate said. "We'll take full responsibility. Call it in, if you like. 12th precinct. But he's ours."

There was a pause, seeming to last an eternity to Rick's fevered brain, but suddenly there was a click and his hands were free. He stood upright.

"Fine," the first officer said. "We could do without the paperwork anyway." He holstered his gun and jerked his head towards his colleague. "Come on. I want to get dry." He strode around to the other side of the car and got back in.

"Thanks," Rick said, rubbing his wrists, only a little bit ironically.

Neither of them took any notice, and as soon as the second officer was inside the black and white pulled away, back into the flow of traffic.

"Are you alright?" Kate asked, stepping to Rick's side.

"We have to find Maggie."

"I know. And we will. But there's no proof Petra's going after her."

Rick's lips tightened. "I know she is. I can feel it, Kate."

"She might be fine," Kate said, trying to be reasonable, trying to calm her obviously agitated friend down. "Where was she going?"

"For pizza."

"Then maybe that's exactly where she is."

"Let's find out." He dragged his phone from his pocket, speed-dialling. Water dripped from his chin as he waited impatiently for the connection. After a moment music began to play from somewhere, thinly at first, then with more volume. "That's Maggie's," he said, scuttling around the bins lining that end of the street. "She's always loved that tune."

Kate and Stavich followed him, each straining to tell where it was coming from.

He dropped to his chest, ignoring the detritus, scrabbling among the dead fragments of a thousand lives. "Yes!" He clambered to his feet, holding it out so they could see the caller ID on the screen, a picture of himself, laughing. He wasn't laughing now. "Tell me now she's not …" He couldn't finish, swallowing hard as his treacherously promiscuous imagination threw up any number of possible scenarios.

Kate put her hand on his arm, feeling him trembling and wondering if he'd be as worried if she was the one missing. "We'll find her," she said, glancing at Stavich, who already had his own phone out. "Castle, I promise. We'll find Maggie."

---

The sound of the rain drumming on the trunk lid gave a curious counterpoint to her heartbeat, jack-hammering in her chest, and Maggie wondered with a distant part of her mind just how far away she was from a heart attack.

She'd gone out the back of the building to avoid the reporters just as the rain began to fall. For a moment she considered whether to try and grab a cab, but they were like leprechauns in this kind of weather (everyone had heard of them, but no-one had ever honestly caught one), and besides the cool water against her skin might feel nice, especially after what she'd almost allowed to happen. She'd let the champagne loosen her inhibitions, and that was not good, not with it being Rick, and certainly not considering how she felt about him. Anyway, it was only a couple of blocks to the pizza place, and as she'd told him, she needed the fresh air.

If she hadn't been thinking about him, had been concentrating better, she might not have stopped at hearing her name, might have been more on her guard. Only she wasn't.

"Maggie!"

She turned. "Petra?"

The blonde, looking far more elegant than she had a right to, considering her hair was rapidly becoming plastered to her head with rain, closed the gap between them. "I want to talk to you."

"What about?"

"Rick."

Maggie didn't sigh, but it was a close run thing. "Petra –"

"You have to stay away from him. He's not yours."

"Look, I know you think you saw something, but you didn't. We're just friends."

"Like Kate Beckett." Venom dripped from the attorney's voice.

"Ye-es," Maggie said slowly. "Like Kate."

"Then I'll deal with her too. But you have to leave Rick alone. He doesn't need you. And I have to say, if you carry on like this, once we're married you won't be welcome in our –"

"What?" Maggie was sure her jaw hit the ground. "Married?"

"Of course." She sounded like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Petra, he's not going to marry you."

"Don't be silly." Petra smiled. "Of course he is. After all I've done for him. It will just take a little gentle persuasion. And no distractions."

There was a pinprick of pain in her midsection, and Maggie looked down at the knife Petra was holding against her stomach. "No, this is crazy. I –" She gasped as the pinprick became a stab.

"Walk," Petra said.

She'd walked. Right up to Petra's car as the attorney prattled on about how this was for Rick's own good, that the dear man couldn't be left to look after himself. He needed a woman's firm hand, and she was just the woman to offer it. When Maggie had tried to remonstrate, to talk her around, the knife had broken her skin again. Not much, but enough to make her whimper, and she could feel warmth trickling down her skin. That was nothing, though, to the ice block in her belly as she realised what danger she was in. At least Petra hadn't noticed –

"Oh, and give me your phone."

She considered denying she had one, but the knife point puncturing her again stopped that idea in its tracks. She handed over the cellphone, and heard it clatter away somewhere. Swallowing hard, she knew there was now no chance of calling Rick, or Kate, or alerting anyone. And when Petra had opened the trunk …

"Get in."

"No …"

"Get in!"

Another starburst of pain in her side, and Maggie had no choice. She hunched down in the trunk, and the lid slammed shut over her. She felt around for a weapon, a tyre iron, maybe, anything she could use to hit Petra and make her escape, but the small space was empty, and she had to just lie there, wondering how Rick did it. He made working with the police look so easy, and she knew he'd been in situations before where his life was under threat. But that was him. Able to face anything that life threw at him with that smile of his, as if it was all happening for his delectation and delight.

"I'm sorry, Rick," Maggie murmured, feeling tears beginning to run down her cheek. "I'm sorry."

Petra had driven for what seemed like ages, and Maggie tried to tell where they might be from listening to the sounds outside, but it was too muted, too overlaid with the sound of the rain. A slight change in the tone made her think they were crossing a bridge, but she couldn't swear to it. More normal road, then she was sure they were on gravel from the crunching vibration, and a much more uneven surface.

There was a jerk, and the car stopped. The engine turned off, and after a moment the trunk lid raised.

Petra stared down at her, the knife in her hand. "Get out."

Maggie sat up, even that short time cramped in one position making her muscles stiff. The rain was still falling, and a lightning bolt rent the sky some distance away, the rumble of thunder coming a few seconds later.

Petra grabbed at her and tugged. "I said, get out."

"Why?"

"Because I want to talk." She waved the knife. "Just talk."

_Right._ Still, Maggie was at a disadvantage, and if she was going to have any chance of getting away, of letting someone know she was in trouble, it had to be out of the car. She clambered free, taking the moment to look around.

The twilight caused by the heavy clouds wasn't total, and she could see trees some distance away, and windows glowed in buildings just visible through the branches. She could hear water as well, above the sound of the rain, fast moving, slapping onto rocks. And the skyscrapers of New York, just out of reach on three sides.

Something caught her attention, and she focused on a fragment of police tape flapping forlornly in the rain, tied to a metal stanchion at the water's edge …

It clicked. The cinders underfoot, the river, the city … Roosevelt Island. Where Rick said they'd found Honor McAllister's body.

She swallowed again, trying to get her heart out of her throat and back where it belonged. The lights of Manhattan might be surrounding her, but she could have been on the moon for all the good it would do.

---

"Beckett." Kate spoke quietly into her phone, then listened intently. After only a moment she looked at Stavich. "They've stopped," she said. "Roosevelt Island."

Stavich nodded. "Looks like that woman doesn't have much imagination."

"No, but I do." Rick was leaning forward from the back, his hands gripping the shoulders of the seats in front. "We have to hurry."

"We are," Stavich said, but surprisingly mildly.

"I know." Rick shook his head. "I'm sorry. I just …" He couldn't explain it. He never could, not when anyone asked him about his relationship with Alexis J Maguire, his Maggie. Except that. _His_ Maggie. His best friend. The person he watched porn with. Hell, the one person in the world he told everything to, even over and above his mother and daughter. She'd outlasted both his marriages, and he didn't want that to end.

Kate glanced at him, at the serious expression on his face, one she was almost totally unfamiliar with. When Stavich had told Ryan to contact Petra's cellphone company to ping her phone, he'd looked almost hopeful, as if maybe the nightmare was about to end, but the time it was taking to follow her was making him look haggard.

Stavich's muscles, clearly defined by the wet and now see-through fabric of his shirt, bunched as he hauled the wheel around, and they were on the bridge, picking up speed.

It wasn't enough for Rick, though. "Faster, faster," he muttered, his fingers digging deep into the seat covers. "Faster would be better."

---

"Why?" Maggie asked, shivering with not just cold, although the chilly breeze that was heading down river was making her wet skin swell into goosebumps. She was standing on one of the rocks, aware one false step on the slippery surface would take her down into the fast-flowing water, and afraid that was exactly what Petra had planned.

"Why what?" the woman in question asked.

"Why are you doing this?"

Petra sighed, audible even above the rain. "I told you. I can't possibly have any distractions around. Not when Richard demands my full attention."

"Then I'll leave." Maggie wrapped her arms around herself, ignoring the pain from the tiny stab wounds. "I'll go home. Back to Los Angeles. You won't see me again."

"I wish I could believe you." Petra actually sounded sincere. "But I don't. Besides, I can't watch him twenty-four hours a day, and there are still telephones. No. Better if you're somewhere out of temptation's reach."

Maggie glanced down at the water below her. "I don't want to die," she said quietly.

"Nobody does." Petra moved closer, what light there was sliced along the knife's edge. "But it happens to everyone."

"Like Honor McAllister."

"You know, I always did hate that name. Monique was better, nicer. But when she became Honor, she changed."

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to." Petra lifted the knife. "Now jump."

"What?"

"Jump."

"No!"

"Don't you think Rick would rather believe this was an accident than murder?" Petra shook her head. "You really aren't concerned with anyone but yourself, are you?"

"I'm not going to jump," Maggie said through gritted teeth.

"No?" Petra bent down and picked up a large stone. "We'll see about that." She wound up her arm, about to throw.

"Petra."

She half-turned, a wide smile on her face. "Richard!"

He came out of the gloom, hands held loosely at his side, as non-threatening as possible. "What's going on?" he asked, glancing at Maggie only once, noting the tiny red stains on her white blouse and feeling his stomach clenching. He concentrated on the woman with the knife. "Well?"

Petra dropped the stone behind her. "Nothing, darling."

"Then why don't you come away from Maggie?"

"Oh, no. I can't do that. This is for us."

"Us?"

"You and me. For our future."

"You think we have one?"

Petra laughed, a bright, glittery sound that had the edge of madness to it. "Of course we have."

"Maybe we do at that." He moved forward.

Behind him Maggie could see other figures, two of them, splitting up, but only because she was looking for them. Hopefully Rick could keep Petra talking, keep her attention on him as the others made their way around either side.

"You're mine." Petra smiled. "Richard, darling, I've killed for you. I think the least you can do is be grateful."

"Oh, I am." He was still moving slowly, his footsteps crunching the gravel, trying to get between the two women. "But I'm still not sure how you did it."

"Did what, sweetheart?"

"The two murders."

She smiled. "You mean Honor McAllister. Marty Drexler OD'd, you know."

"If you want to call it that."

"She was going to tell all, did you know that?" Petra's ice-maiden exterior was starting to show cracks. "About me, about my family … and I couldn't have that."

"The Baricellas."

Her eyebrow raised, a parody of her normal expression. "How did you know that?"

"Her flash drive. Everything we needed to know was on it."

Petra sighed. "I searched for it, after I'd killed her. Where was it?"

"In the post. To a friend."

"I thought, by wiping her computer, I'd be safe. Obviously not."

Rick took another pace forward. "So you decided to frame me."

"Not frame, darling. Remind. Remind you that I'm indispensible. That I'm the reason you're walking around free."

"You took a risk."

"I had to. I knew you'd see, once I defended you successfully –"

He interrupted her. "I mean turning up at my place when the cops came to search."

"Two birds, Rick. Plant the evidence, and be there when the search started, then nobody could possibly question how I came to be defending you."

"Still a risk."

"One worth taking."

"And putting Honor's body in the river?"

"Muddying the waters." She smiled at the pun. "That's the fun of knowing how these things work. If she'd been washed away into the Atlantic, all well and good. But the longer until she was found, the less likely they could work out an exact time of death."

"And Drexler?"

"I didn't know he kept the watch." She sighed. "You can't trust anyone nowadays, can you?"

"You kept some of my stuff."

"I was always going to give it back. When you came to your senses."

"He was always going to be the scapegoat. For everything." Petra started to pace a little. "Honor was my friend, you know. From a long time ago. Best friends. We told each other everything. When she called me, asked me to go around, I thought it was to talk about old times, but she told me she was dying. That she wanted to make things right. She even showed me a print of the final article she was writing."

"About you."

"About everyone. All those dirty little secrets she'd been paid to keep, and she was going to get them out into the open, wash that linen in public. I couldn't let her. So of course I had to do something. Drexler was just someone I helped out once, and he had the skills I needed. He owed me."

"Did Drexler know? That you killed Honor?"

"He worked it out. Eventually. He actually tried to blackmail me over it. Can you imagine that? Me?" She laughed again, the glitter of madness now fracturing. "I told him to wait, that I'd sort something out for him. I even gave him a little on account."

"The drugs."

She shrugged, making the second murder just a little thing. "I know people. And at least he went out with a smile on his face. In a way it was lucky he'd held back on those little trinkets as insurance. It worked in our favour."

"_Our_ favour?"

"Of course. I had to make sure you were found not guilty."

"Petra, _you_ set me up in the first place!"

Making a moue of distaste, as if it wasn't important, Petra spoke firmly. "All in a good cause, Richard. For us. Because I love you."

She probably did, he realised, in her own distorted way. Maybe it was the years of pretending to be someone she wasn't, of maintaining a mask over her real self, or perhaps she'd always been unstable, hiding that behind the ice-queen persona, but he could see that, in her mind, all this made perfect sense. "Petra, if you do love me, why don't we go and find somewhere nice and warm to talk?" he suggested, keeping his voice light. "I could do with drying off." He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking the water droplets off.

Petra glanced at Maggie, still standing above her. "But I have to finish this first. I never leave anything half done."

"You can this time." Rick moved forward, reaching for the knife, but there was a clatter from the left as Stavich slipped on the wet rocks, and the noise had Petra half-turning. Maggie took the opportunity to jump down and try to run, but she was too fast, and the knife slashed around. Maggie cried out, doubling over and falling to her knees.

Rick was on them in a moment, his fist swinging, connecting with Petra's jaw with the audible crack of her teeth slamming together. She staggered backwards, her balance giving way and falling, but Rick ignored her, just as he ignored the pain in his hand, going down next to Maggie instead.

Kate ran forward, taking the dazed attorney by the arm and pulling her over to lay face down in the mud, dragging her handcuffs out and slapping them on.

"Sorry," Stavich said, limping a little as he came up. "She okay?"

"Call an ambulance," Rick demanded, cradling Maggie against his body as the rain began to ease.


	18. Epilogue

Stavich took Petra back to the precinct to begin questioning, telling Kate he'd deal with her. "I need to salvage my reputation somehow."

"That's fine," Kate said. "You're the lead, so it's your collar."

"Want to bet I get a written confession?"

"No."

He grinned, then glanced at Rick. "Maybe I was wrong about him," he said quietly.

"Only maybe?" Kate asked.

"You could do worse."

"Really."

"Yeah. Me, for instance."

"I already tried that," she pointed out.

"True. But you can't fault a guy for asking." He grinned wider, looking up at the sky and the breaking clouds. "Looks like it's going to be a fine night. If you feel like going to dinner later …"

"No. But thanks."

"Like I said, have to ask." He opened the door to the black and white, and glanced inside. "You okay?" he asked Petra in the back. She ignored him. He chuckled and looked back at Kate. "You're a better conversationalist."

"I should hope so."

Stavich looked at Rick. "Great right hook, by the way."

"Uh … thanks." Rick's attention was more on the EMTs checking Maggie over than anything else, but he managed to wave a little.

Stavich shook his head. "See you later," he said to Kate, and climbed into the car. "Home, James," he said to the driver, and the wheels span up little waves of gravel as it pulled away.

Kate joined Rick.

"She said she killed for me. Is all this my fault?" Rick asked as one of the EMTs smoothed a dressing over the biggest cut on Maggie's side. He'd wanted to be there, hold her hand, but they'd made him stand back.

Kate looked at him, and wondered if he had, for once, realised the truth about consequences. But in this case … "No, Rick." She used his first name for emphasis. "Petra killed Honor because she was going to expose her family connections."

"And Drexler? He wouldn't have died if I hadn't got you to look into the case, to poke around and try to …" He stopped, his lips slamming together.

"You didn't get me to do anything. It's my job. And you didn't kill him. She did that. For whatever reasons, most of them down to the fact that she's one crazy lady."

He sighed heavily, still watching the medical personnel. "And I always thought stalkers were sad little people with no lives," he muttered, flexing the fist that had taken Petra down.

"They are. And so was she, inside." Maggie was being loaded into the back of the ambulance, and Kate put her hand on his arm. "Aren't you going to go with her to the hospital?"

"They won't let me ride in the back."

"Then I'll take you."

"Are you sure?"

She smiled for him. "Of course I'm sure. That's what friends are for, isn't it?"

---

She waited with him while the emergency room staff examined Maggie, only leaving when her cellphone rang and one of the nurses told her, most pointedly, that they weren't allowed in the hospital, and that she had to go outside. It was a long call, first with Stavich, followed by Captain Montgomery, then the Mayor himself, congratulating her on a job well done and inviting her to the next poker game, but when she finally got back she found him still in the same seat, not appearing to have budged, apart from a cardboard cup in his hand.

"Any news?" she asked.

Rick looked up from what they claimed was coffee. "Getting stitched." He glanced past her towards the examination rooms. "I'm just waiting to take her home."

"They're not making her stay?" Kate was surprised.

"No." He shrugged with one shoulder. "Well, they tried, but she's refusing point blank." He half-smiled. "I didn't know she knew some of those words. And I'm sure some of them were in a foreign language." He had to chuckle, explaining, "She hates hospitals."

"I know how she feels." Kate sat down next to him. "What about you? Are you okay?"

"Me?" He made that scoffing face, and waved the question away. "I'm fine. Fine." He looked at his fingers. "I mean, I thought I'd broken my hand, but I guess not."

"Only it's tough. I know. Seeing someone you … someone you're close to lying there hurt."

He tried not to visualise it again, but couldn't quite manage it, and a faint shudder ran through him. "I thought …" He couldn't finish.

Kate put her hand on his thigh. "You thought she was dying. But she wasn't."

"No." He looked at her, relief in his smile. "No, she wasn't." He shook his head. "They said she was lucky, though. Damn lucky. The knife ran along a rib. If it hadn't …"

"So you panicked for nothing."

"There was a lot of blood!"

"It was a white top, Castle. And it was raining. Of course it looked like a lot."

"I guess."

"But it's not your fault."

He couldn't help the rueful twist of his lips. "No?"

"No."

"How about being more sensible? More grown up?" He shook his head, revisiting the guilt. "If I hadn't dumped Petra –"

"You knew she was trouble. Even subconsciously." She smiled. "Rick, you had no way of knowing what she was going to do. And not all stalkers are men in their thirties wearing pants that are too short for them and broken glasses."

"That would make it a lot easier, though."

She laughed lightly. "Well, it would for the cops."

"And you called me Rick."

"Don't get used to it."

"I like it."

"An aberration, I'm sure."

"Speaking of which, what's the news on Petra?"

"Apparently, according to Paul, they're having a job shutting her up. I think she's going for the insanity plea."

"Well, if it helps, I for one think she's a total nutjob."

"That's your professional opinion, is it?"

"It is."

"I think I agree with you." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "But then, you know what they say about a woman spurned …"

"They're likely to come back and bite you in the ass?"

"Something like that. Oh, and by the way, you've been officially cleared."

"I thought I had already."

"That was more … general. This is very specific. The Captain just told me."

"So I don't have to go on the run and change my name to something like Benny Beagle?"

"No."

"That's a pity. I was looking forward to a life of petty crime."

"And I was looking forward to arresting you."

He gave her a withering glare. "Oh, ha ha."

A couple of nurses passed them by, chattering, then glancing over their shoulders at him as they walked away. He gave them one of the patented Castle smiles, and they giggled.

"Do you have to?" Kate complained.

"Habit," he explained. "Besides, they've all been asking for my autograph."

"Is that unusual?"

"No. But there have been a lot."

"Don't worry. Give it a few weeks and your status will drop back from demi-god to best-selling author."

"And man about town. Don't forget man about town."

"Oh, believe me, I try," she sniped, but it was automatic. Something she did because it was easy.

"Can I use that, though? The demi-god bit."

"I'm sure you will."

He looked back down into his cup, reading the past, if not the future. "Obsession."

"What?"

"Everything always comes down to obsession. Honor McAllister was obsessed with revealing the truth as she saw it. Petra was obsessed with me. And I'm …" He shrugged again.

"What? Obsessed with your family?" She smiled. "Because that's what Maggie is, isn't she? Your family."

Rick nodded. "All the time Petra was talking, all I could think about was being glad that my mother and Alexis weren't there. Then feeling guilty because … it was about getting to Mags. Stopping the bleeding." He looked at Kate. "There was so much blood." The last was almost on a whisper.

"And you know she's fine. She's a strong woman. Has to be, to put up with you."

His lips twitched slightly. "We're not … you know we're not …" He made some hand gesture that was more than clear.

Kate raised one eyebrow. "And whose choice is that?"

"Hers," he admitted.

"Why?"

"She said once that she couldn't take it when we broke up."

"But you haven't. Have you?"

"No. At least, not like that. But I know what she means. It's easier just to be friends. Good friends, who love each other, but friends nevertheless. That way you can't get hurt."

She wondered if he was really talking about Maggie, or if there was someone else on his mind. "And it's worth it? Not to try? To let the possibility of that lifelong love pass you by?"

"You put your head out there, you're likely to get it chopped off." He shrugged. "Besides, I'm not losing Mags. She'll always be there, just like I'm there for her."

"Is it enough?"

"Has to be." He looked into Kate's face, willing her to understand. "Her choice."

"Maybe the wrong one."

He grinned, and for just a moment the little boy he must have been, and to some degree still was, looked back at her. "Well, I have told her that. One more than one occasion."

"I'm guessing you're talking about me." They looked up to see Maggie standing not ten feet away, dressed in a borrowed scrub top, her white blouse hanging over her arm. "Must be pretty boring."

Rick was already on his feet, crossing the hall and looking down into her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, peachy." She smiled, though, to take any sarcasm from her words. "I'm pretty numb at the moment, which that doctor said is going to wear off in a few hours, so he's given me some tablets to dull the worst of it."

"And you're going to take them." It wasn't a question.

"We'll see."

"No, I mean you're going to. You're coming home with me, and I'm going to look after you for a change."

"No."

"This isn't a debate, Mags."

She glared at him, but her gaze quickly softened. "Okay. But I warn you. I'm a terrible patient."

He chuckled. "I know that. But I think I can cope."

Maggie moved around him enough so she could see Kate better. "Thanks."

"What for?" Kate asked.

"Coming in the nick of time."

"Isn't that what the good guys are supposed to do?"

"And so often don't."

"Well, I am a good guy," Kate said, standing up. "And you don't have to thank me. I was only doing my job."

"Really." Maggie shook her head slowly. "You and me both know that's not quite the case."

"You think."

"I know."

Rick watched as Maggie walked forward until the two women were only a step apart. Any closer and someone would probably have thrown a bucket of cold water over them. "Um … what's going on?"

They ignored him.

"You know, one day we're probably going to end up fighting over him," Maggie said conversationally.

"Probably. Who do you think would win?"

Maggie shrugged, then decided not to do that again as a dull ache made itself known. "Well, I'm not in the peak of fitness at the moment, but I do have a couple of years and a pound or two on you."

"I've got police training," Kate pointed out.

"True."

"We could always play poker for him."

"Winner takes all?"

"Every last bite."

Maggie ran her eyes up and down the woman in front of her. "I'm damn good."

"I'm not so shabby myself."

Rick tried to intervene. "Ladies? This really isn't the place to be starting a catfight, now, is it?"

Again they ignored him.

"We could always share," Kate suggested.

"Share?"

"I could have him Monday, Wednesday and Friday. You could take Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday."

"What about Sunday?"

"Well, he's going to need _some_ time to recover."

Maggie appeared to be seriously considering the offer. "True. And if you're working, I could take up the slack."

"And if you're out of town, I could do the same."

"Maggie?" Rick was a bit more forceful this time. "Kate? Don't I get a say in this?"

Neither woman even looked at him. "No," they chorused.

"Oh. Right." Not since his mother had sold him to the highest bidder at that charity auction had he felt so … used. Although actually, to tell the honest truth, he was also intrigued.

"Perhaps we'd better go back to Castle's loft and discuss this a bit more," Kate suggested.

"Perhaps we should. Iron out the details, so to speak." Maggie linked their arms. "Shall we?"

"Why not?"

The two women walked towards the exit.

Rick watched them for a moment, knowing they had to be joking, but a tiny part of him wishing they weren't. It could be fun, being the kept plaything of two such strong females. Exhausting, but fun. Although maybe he'd have to ask for every other Thursday off so he could do some writing. A smirk formed on his lips. After all, he did have a reputation to keep up.

"Well?" Maggie called from the door. "Are you coming?"

The smirk grew into a full size grin. "On my way," he promised, jogging to catch them up.

---

--

-

_**Storm Fall: the final chapter**_

Perdita Boston dressed carefully, touching up her make-up before slipping on her heels. Her hair she merely tucked behind her ears, the strands leaving little red marks like the devil's footprints on her close-fitting oyster silk blouse.

The smell of gunpowder seemed to be fading, or perhaps it was just that she was getting used to it. It would certainly be noticeable to the police officers arriving now, their red and blue lights flashing, disturbing the night.

She walked out into the rain, towards the waiting cars, tiny tracks slipping down her blouse like tears of blood.

"He's inside," she said, barely noticing two of the cops hurrying past her towards the open front door. "He made me love him, you see. He destroyed my life, then he made me want nobody else. And if I couldn't have him …"

She stopped, the cold chill of the handcuffs snapping around her wrists, and she knew she wasn't going to say anything more. There was nothing left, only tears in the dying storm ...


End file.
